Dies Felices
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: Gabriel has a proposition: on November 2, 1983, Sam dies instead of Mary. Sam goes straight up to Heaven, bypassing a miserable life and the horror of the Cage. His family has relative peace. Sam says no. If only it were that simple.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I _clearly_ don't own the boys or the show, or we'd have had hospital Sammy by now, right?

**Author's Note: **So… another of the longer fics to get us through a summer of wondering what exactly 'the other one' remembered from the Cage.

This one's set sometime between _The Man Who Would Be King _and _Let It Bleed_. The idea came from Cheryl – many thanks, and I hope this is kind-of-sort-of-maybe what you had in mind for this story.

Also, this is my first serious stab at writing a story entirely from Sam's point of view. I think on the whole it's worked out OK. Let me know!

**Warnings Etc:** Spoilers up to S6, obviously, and minor language, although nothing more than you'd see on the show. And (since this is me, and I can _never _resist) some shameless schmoop and chick-flicking later on.

**Summary:** Gabriel brings Sam a proposition: on November 2, 1983, Sam will die instead of Mary. Sam will go straight up to Heaven, bypassing a miserable life and the horror of the Cage. His family will have relative peace. Sam says no, because when was listening to Angels ever a good idea? If only it were that simple.

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><p><strong>Dies Felices<strong>

**Prologue: A Time to Every Purpose under Heaven**

They say the human soul is unbreakable.

That's a stupid way to start a story, isn't it? Attributing a random statement to some nebulous expert who apparently knows all about the human soul.

Let me start over. I'm Sam Winchester.

Yup. _That _Sam Winchester. And I don't know what _they _say about the human soul, but I do know that Death (yes, _the _Death, Thanatos, Mors, the Horseman, the Grim Reaper, whatever you want to call him) told Dean that the soul can't be broken. And he ought to know, right? I mean, if _Death _can't break the soul…

If Death can't break the soul, it doesn't mean that nothing can.

Death doesn't really get it. He's old – more ancient than God, probably. He's powerful. He's got a weird kind of co-dependency with mortals. (We need him because of the whole Circle of Life thing, and he needs us because without us he would be kind of pointless, wouldn't he?) He knows everything about everything and _then _some. There's no place he can't go, no barrier to keep him out, no hiding from him and no escaping him.

All the same, there's also a lot he doesn't understand.

Like brothers. Death hasn't got brothers or for that matter even _friends_. What he has is a ring and a scythe and near-absolute authority. That makes him (according to Dean) annoyingly overbearing, but that's about it.

Lucifer and Michael, on the other hand – they _do _know about brothers. They know _all _about them. All the stupid things you say that you don't mean, all the times you lash out and hurt the one person you would happily sell your own soul to keep safe, all the times you're terrified that your place has been taken or your purpose served and you're not needed anymore.

But what Lucifer and Michael know is a story for another day – and I promised Dean I wouldn't think about it. They only come into _this_ story because of Gabriel.

Gabriel is one smooth talker. He's had practice, of course – and not just as the Trickster. He's been the eternal messenger, fulfilling the original purpose of the angels, sent to human beings when crazy crap is happening to them to assure them that it's the will of God and they don't have to worry, all they have to do is accept it and submit to it and not get freaked out by the fact that all the faucets in the house are gushing wine (or worse).

I'd assumed that Gabriel was dead. I know, stupid of me, right? When does anything _ever_ stay dead around here?

But I figured – angel-killing sword, giant wings burnt into the ground, the dude was gone. (Lucifer thought so, too, which was what really decided me. I could feel his regret when he was in my head. He was actually sorry about it, although he was the one who did it.)

That, really, is where this begins. With me sitting on a park bench trying to hack into the FBI database (don't ask), and the thought never crossing my mind that the guy sitting opposite me stuffing an obscene number of jellybeans into his mouth (seriously, even _Dean _hasnever tried to chew five hundred jellybeans at the same time) was anything other than a random guy with a sugar fetish.

I'd been sitting there about fifteen minutes when he offered me the bag. "Jellybean?"

"No, thanks," I said. I don't really like jellybeans, and anyway – even at twenty-eight – Dean would go ballistic on my ass if I took candy from a stranger. Considering the kinds of strangers we tend to meet, I don't really blame him.

Dean and I had just had a fight, which explains why I was doing my research on a park bench.

What did we fight about? Damned if I remember. We're brothers. We're always finding stuff to fight about. It was probably who got first shower or who got to pick the music or something equally pointless. It started, it escalated, and it ended with me telling Dean that I wasn't a damn baby and he could stop treating me like one and Dean saying he wouldn't mind a little appreciation for his having left Lisa and Ben to keep an eye on my ungrateful ass.

Then Dean looked at me like he wished he could take it back. But instead of saying anything, he went into the bathroom and shut the door.

I figured we both needed to cool off. Dean's perpetual over-protectiveness can be infuriating, but I sure as hell wouldn't want him to stop caring. And I know Dean doesn't regret being on the road with me instead of having a normal life. But when you spend days on end within ten feet of each other every freaking minute of every freaking day, tempers tend to rise.

So I snagged my laptop and went out.

I'd already walked a mile or so when I realized my cell phone was still in my duffel in the motel room. Dean was going to be pissed. But I really wasn't in the mood to go all the way back for it, so I found a park where I could get Wi-Fi and got to work.

And that brings us to where we started: me trying to hack into the FBI database and the random guy offering me jellybeans.

"Go on," the guy said, shaking the bag under my nose. "I haven't put any GHB in them. You're not my type, anyway."

"No, thanks," I said again.

The guy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and said, "So what're you doing?"

"Research."

"College paper?"

"Yeah."

"Need any help?"

The guy was _really _starting to bug me now. I don't usually _like _being rude to people, even obnoxious jerks who are high on sugar, but sometimes you can make an exception.

Before I could say anything, though, he leaned in even closer and whispered, "I can help… Sammy."

_Crap._

I was fumbling for my Taurus, wishing I had the Colt, wondering whether this was a demon or a shifter or something even nastier, when he put a hand on my arm.

"Sammy. Calm down. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be dead."

I ignored him. Letting supernatural things distract you is a surefire way to let them get the jump on you, and I've been almost-strangled by them often enough to know that the experience sucks.

_Ha. Gun._

I started to pull it out, but he stopped me with a hand to my arm and a nod in the direction of a couple of uniformed policemen standing by the park entrance drinking coffee.

"Do you really want to cause a panic, Sammy? I told you, I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"About what?"

"For one thing, don't you want to know who I am?"

"I don't need to –"

"They call me Gabriel."

I stared. "Gabriel? Like _Gabriel _Gabriel?"

"No," he said, rolling his eyes. "Like Justin Bieber Gabriel. How many Gabriels do you know?"

"But – you're –"

"Dead?" He smiled conspiratorially. "What, you think only you and Big Brother get brought back? God's my daddy, kid. He doesn't have to make deals with demons if he wants me alive."

"Where have you _been_?"

"Doing things too profound for your puny mortal mind to comprehend. Close your mouth, Sammy. You look like a fish."

"Don't call me Sammy."

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I forgot only Big Brother gets to call you that, Sammy. Now _listen _to me. I have a proposition, and it's going to take long enough for me to put it in terms that will be intelligible to your primitive brain. I don't want to waste time arguing."

"You _want _something from me?"

"Yes. To begin with, I want your silence and complete attention to what I'm about to say. You love Dean, don't you? Hero-worship him? You'd do anything for him?"

"If you touch him –"

"Relax, Sammy. I'm not going to lay a finger on Dean. I have an offer for you."

"What?"

"I can get you out of all the trouble you got into – no demon blood, no visions, no telekinetic powers. And I can give Dean that happy suburban life he seems to think he wants."

The offer only made me frown suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"Remember the night Azazel came for you and your mother died over your crib? Of course you don't. You were only six months old. But you know all about that night. And I can change what happened."

"How?"

"I can't undo it completely, you understand. Atropos would never let me hear the end of it. She nags me enough about telling you monkeys how to trap Lucifer and thereby averting the Apocalypse. _Someone _needs to die that night."

It clicked. "You're saying… Me in exchange for Mom."

"I knew they call you the smart Winchester for a reason. So… What do you say?"

"Don't be ridiculous," was what I said, although I had to admit to myself that I was tempted. "I'm sure you're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, and whatever your price is, I'm sure I'm not going to like it. Besides – I couldn't do that to Mom. I know what it's like."

"She would never know."

"And _Dean_?"

"Ah, yes. _Dean._ How is Dean going to survive without a little brother to look after? Well… How do you know he won't have one? A different one, who listens to him and doesn't talk back all the time."

"Dean wouldn't –"

"Dean wouldn't trade you for anyone or anything. I know. But, Sammy… Dean won't miss you if he's never had you, now, will he?"

"_No_," I said firmly, shutting my laptop and getting to my feet. "I'm not interested."

"Yes, you are," Gabriel said, standing as well.

"No, I'm not." I snapped, shoving down the tiny voice in my head that was whispering that maybe, _maybe_, this wasn't as bad an idea as it seemed. "And I want to know why _you _want it so badly."

"If I tell you, you'll do it?"

"I couldn't do that to Dean."

"Forget Dean for a second and think about _yourself_, Sam. Children go straight to Heaven if they die, you know. No Hell. No Purgatory. No Cage and no being tortured by Lucifer and Michael in the Cage."

"No."

"Sammy, I'm offering to let you exchange a miserable life for Heaven. Just think about it. You would never even _meet _Ruby or Lilith, you would never have broken the last seal, my beloved brother would never have wanted you for a vessel – what more could you ask for?"

"No."

"Fine," Gabriel said. "Think about it. I'll be back tonight. And remember it isn't just a question of _you _here, Sammy. It's your mother and your father and Dean's perfect little life."

I made my way back to the motel as quickly as I could. I was trying to put it out of my mind – angels lie; demons lie; I was sure Gabriel had an ulterior motive and if he wasn't telling me about it, then it was something I wouldn't like. And anyway, I _couldn't_ do that to Dean.

If I could only be sure it wouldn't be what Dean wanted.

A blast of noise hit me when I opened the motel room door, interrupting my thoughts. Dean was on the phone, yelling at the top of his voice.

"What the hell do you mean, don't worry? Of course I'm going to worry! The freaking idiot left his freaking cell phone freaking _here_! And he didn't leave a message! I can't get in touch with –" Dean stopped short when he saw me. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and I knew I was in trouble. "Oh. Sam's just back, Bobby. I'm sure he's got an excellent explanation for disappearing on me. Let me call you back."

He tossed his cell phone onto the bed, pulled me roughly into the room, and started patting me down.

"I'm not hurt," I offered.

"Shut up."

Dean shoved me into a chair and started lecturing me about wandering off on my own without telling anybody. He sounded mad as hell, and maybe he would've fooled someone else, but I knew him well enough to see past the 'bloody stupid moron' and the 'next time you do that I'm going to kick your ass to Canada and then I'm going to bring you back here to do it again'.

I'd been an idiot even to _think _Dean might want me to take Gabriel up on his offer.

Dean appeared to think I was still upset about our fight – I _wasn't_, and I _hadn't_ tried to run away, but it was useless explaining that to him. He spent the evening making it up to me. (And he calls _me _clingy, but _he's_ the one who keeps rubbing my head and my back when he thinks I'm upset. I really should call him on that, but – well, it does feel kind of comforting.)

After we shared a pizza and snickered over some awful horror movie on TV, Dean sat on the edge of my bed until I fell asleep. He didn't say a thing, just borrowed my laptop (I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he was doing with it), but he was _there_, and I didn't have nightmares.

I woke up a couple of hours later. The room was dark, and Dean was sleeping in his own bed. It was empty other than the two of us – so what had woken me?

There was a sharp rapping sound. Someone knocking on the door?

Oh. Of course. Gabriel. He'd promised to be back, hadn't he?

I glanced at Dean. He was fast asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets with only the top of his head visible. There was no need to wake him up. I'd just tell Gabriel I wasn't interested and –

Well, I was sure it wouldn't be _that _easy. Still, no need to bother Dean until I knew exactly what kind of trouble we were _in_.

I opened the door.

Gabriel stepped in.

"About _time_," he said, slamming the door shut behind him. "I do you the courtesy of _not _materializing into your room and – What do you call it? Violating your personal space? – and you leave me standing outside in the cold."

"I thought you can't feel the cold."

"No, but the man I'm possessing can. And he _whines_ if he catches a cold. Have you thought about my generous offer, Sam?"

"The answer's no."

"You haven't thought about it."

"I have thought about it. I can't do that to my mother!"

"She will never know."

"And I can't do it to Dean."

"He will never know, either. You're being selfish, Sam. Do you honestly think Dean would miss a little brother he knew for just six months? He'd be perfectly happy and he wouldn't know a thing."

"Why do you want this?" I asked. "What's in it for you?"

"What do you care? I'm offering you a release for yourself, your parents' lives and your brother's happiness. What more do you want?"

"I want to know what you're after."

Gabriel watched me for a moment. "Fine. Clearly _this _isn't working. I expect your mind is too miniscule to comprehend the magnitude of what I'm offering you. Let's try this a different way."

He waved his hand, and the motel room dissolved.

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><p>What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!<p> 


	2. A Time to Be Born

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's mine.

**Author's Note:** A few people asked this, so I figured I'd answer it here: no, I don't think Sam would or should have said yes to Gabriel's proposition. I think the boys have learnt their lesson about making deals, whether with demons, angels, or the Flying Purple Spaghetti Monster. (Even soulless Sam had the sense not to make a deal with that leprechaun.) And in this case Gabriel sought Sam out, with no provocation whatsoever, to make the offer. Given the angels' track record on the ulterior motives front, I don't see Sam jumping at it.

Thanks to Cheryl for the prompt and for all the help!

And many thanks to my reviewers: The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, joralie, ArmedWithMyComputer, Krahl, elleran1969, TinTin11, Thriving Willow, BranchSuper, Yami Faerie, SPN Mum, cookjar, jensengirl4eva, SandyDee84, Reader One, Katy M VT, Jester's Tear82, always review, SodasFutureWife and Sparkiebunny.

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><p><strong>Chapter I: A Time to Be Born, and a Time to Die<strong>

The motel room re-formed.

Same place, Gabriel standing opposite me looking like I'd messed up some grand plan of his, Dean's even breathing from the bed.

"Dude?" I said. "Nothing happened."

"Yes, it did. I just didn't think you'd still be here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Open the door and you'll see."

I brushed past him to the door and grabbed the handle –

And my fingers passed through it like it was made of smoke. Or, more accurately, like my fingers were made of smoke, because the door handle looked pretty solid.

I should've figured out what had happened – it was blindingly obvious, given what I know of Gabriel's quirky sense of humour.

Hold on a second – why exactly am I being polite about Gabriel? He's caused us more trouble than anyone else. When Dean actually died I only had to live four months without him; Gabriel made me live through _six_ to prove some obscure point that I'm _still _not sure I get. His sense of humour isn't _quirky_. It's warped, twisted and downright sadistic.

Nice to get that straightened out.

Anyway, given what I know about Gabriel's warped, twisted and downright sadistic sense of humour, I should've figured it out right away. Instead, I made several more futile (and, from Gabriel's reaction, increasingly hilarious) attempts to grasp the doorknob while Dean slept on.

Finally I gave up and said, "What the _hell_?"

"Don't you understand, Sammy? This is a trial run."

"A trial run for _what_?"

"_Think_, you witless Neanderthal. How did you die?"

"How did I –"

A deluge of jumbled memories poured into my head. Cold Oak, and Walt and Roy, and Anna, and Stull Cemetery – and something else. Fire, and pain, and the sound of a woman screaming my name as smoke and flame swirled around me.

It made my head hurt.

"What did you _do_?" I asked. "Am I _dead_?"

"_Finally _he gets it. Yes. You are. On November 2, 1983, Azazel came into your nursery. He didn't try to feed you his blood, because he knew that _you _being alive would result in _him _facing a messy end."

"How did he know that?"

Yeah, I know. It probably seems a little weird that my reaction was so muted, but, honestly, I'm used to dying _and _to Gabriel's stupid games by now.

"Don't be dumber than you have to, Sam. I told him. Anyway, he decided that his life mattered more to him than having you as his Boy King – and so here we are. That's what surprises me. You should be in Heaven now. I can't imagine why you're here."

"Am I a ghost?"

"No, because if you were a ghost you'd appear in the form in which you died – as a six-month-old baby, just like the one that scared the wits out of Macbeth. Instead, I see an eight-foot-tall – well, whatever it is you are. Although that could be because I didn't really change time. An echo of reality. I think a bit of particle physics might help us sort it out –"

"_Dude._"

"Not in the mood for intellectual pursuits? All right, then, let me put it this way: I didn't change the past permanently. I pushed you and Dean into a – we'll call it an alternate dimension – that was identical to – we'll call it our reality – until November 2, 1983. Then you died instead of Mom, and now… Well, you _should _be in Heaven, and you will be if I go back in time in our reality and do the job right. For now, you get to hang out here and walk through walls."

"Are you even allowed to do this?" I demanded. Then, remembering Balthazar, "Sorry, I forgot. No rules, right?"

"Actually," Gabriel said coolly, "there _are _rules. There are always rules, even when Brother Castiel elects to ignore them. Going back in time and exchanging you for your mother is like using you for a vessel – I can't do it without your consent. Which is why we're here. And why _you're _here. Although I would have preferred it if you'd gone upstairs and seen the facilities on offer."

"I've seen Heaven."

"You've seen Zachariah's version of Heaven, and that wasn't really meant to tempt you to stay there. He just wanted to push Big Brother over the edge – and I think he managed it very well. If you hadn't interfered, Dean would have said yes to Michael and that would've been that. Anyway, no point worrying about what we can't do. Feel free to explore, Sammy. Just try to steer clear of hunters."

"Wait – how come I remember everything? Does Dean?"

"You remember everything because I want you to make an informed decision. Dean thinks this _is _reality, just the way it will be if you accept my offer. I don't think he even remembers there ever was a Sam Winchester – your parents never spoke to him about you after… But I'll leave you to discover everything for yourself. Have fun, Sam. I'll be back in a few days."

"But –"

No use. Gabriel was gone.

And I was stuck in a motel room, unable to touch anything or do anything or – well, _anything_. I tried waking Dean, but either he couldn't hear me or he was in an alcohol-induced coma and couldn't hear anything. Knowing Dean, it could've been either. Or both.

So I spent the next six hours working through everything I could remember about what the world was like in this alternate dimension.

Or, at least, I tried.

I had a few vague memories of what happened before I died – Mom alive, Dad happy and not being a drill sergeant, Dean curling up around me in my crib.

And then the fire and pain, and then nothing.

That was weird, because there should've been _something_. Heaven, or Hell, or being a ghost, or – well, _something_. I couldn't just blink out of existence one day and reappear twenty-eight years later, could I?

I knew I should've gone to a few more physics lectures at Stanford.

I gave up before too long, and spent the rest of the night trying to figure out how to touch stuff. I tried to be quiet – just in case. I didn't want Dean to wake up and shoot me full of rock salt.

I tried to open the door again, then all the windows. I tried to get the faucets running (and freaked out when I saw I had no reflection in the bathroom mirror). I tried to pick up Dean's guns, grab a dust bunny from under the bed, open his duffel, and finally I gave up on the heavy stuff and tried to snag a flyer someone had slipped under the door sometime at night.

Nothing.

Big fat _nothing_. I gave up and slumped dejectedly on the floor (thank _God _I didn't just sink through that, because I would've been _really _bummed out to find myself suddenly floating in the middle of the earth's crust) between the beds. (Dean was obviously the only occupant of the room, so I don't know why he didn't just get a single.)

Dean's cell phone was on the floor, too. He'd probably fallen asleep holding it.

I stretched out my legs, they passed through the phone, and the screen flickered.

It took me a moment to register what was happening, and then I figured – EMF. Or something like it. Eve said souls have huge amounts of energy, and presumably _this _time I had my soul intact.

I tried again. The screen flickered again, more strongly.

I shot a glance at Dean to make sure he was deeply asleep before I started trying to work out how to navigate through the cell phone menus.

I'd been at it for an hour and only succeeded in unlocking the phone. (Seriously, Dean's security codes are a _joke_. You know what kind of idiot uses his year of birth as his security code? An idiot who wants his phone hacked.)

That was when Dean started to twitch and whimper in his sleep.

"Nightmare," my brain said, and I reached out automatically to rub his shoulder. My hand went straight through it and I was ready to scream with frustration – what the _hell _did Gabriel mean by leaving me here utterly powerless to do anything useful?

Fortunately I didn't have to watch Dean toss restlessly for too long – he woke up in ten minutes, panting, sweating and shaking. He grabbed his phone (fortunately not noticing that it was unlocked) and pressed Speed Dial 1.

I couldn't help feeling a little curious about who Dean's Speed Dial 1 was in this world. (And a little sad that it couldn't be me.) Lisa, maybe? But if Dean was with Lisa, why was he hanging around in some random motel on the other side of nowhere?

Dean, sounding unutterably weary, said, "Mom?"

_Oh._

"You told me to tell you if I had that dream again."

Dean was having recurring nightmares?

"Yeah," he was saying. "It was just the same… I mean _just the same_, Mom! In every way… I told you about it already… But… All right, fine." Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Fine, it started with fire, lots of fire, and a baby burning alive. And it looked at me – the baby – and I knew I was supposed to save it but I couldn't. And then it was growing up, and doing stuff, and each time he just stopped and looked at me like – I don't know, like I'd let him down. The last time he was an adult… What? How does that matter?… OK. He was tall… I don't know. Pretty tall. Taller than me. Dark hair. Great big tragic eyes like those beagles on cards… I asked him who he was and he looked at me like I'd torn his heart out. And then I woke up."

There was a moment of silence while he listened to Mom. Then, "Yeah, OK, I'll swing by Lawrence. Take me a couple of days to get there, but I don't have a job right now."

It was official. This was the weirdest thing I'd ever done.

While I was wondering if I was supposed to go to Lawrence with Dean, and how I was supposed to get there if so, he was dialling another number.

"Hey, Dave, it's me," he said after a moment. "Call me when you get this. I'm going to see Mom and Dad. You going to be in the area?"

_Dave. _That was new. Who was Dave?

Dean dropped the phone and looked around the room, heaving a sigh. "This sucks. Lucifer is out of his Cage, there's an Apocalypse we need to stop and I'm having dreams about some random dude!"

Wait, _what_?

The _Apocalypse_? What the _hell_? How was the Apocalypse even still _on_? Dean had to make the deal and go to Hell because of _me_ – and _I _broke the last seal. If I was dead there wasn't supposed to _be _an Apocalypse. That's how it works, right? No evil bloodsucking abomination reaching adulthood, nobody to free Lucifer.

_Right?_

You would _think_, but apparently the angels always had a Plan B. And a Plan C and a Plan D and – from what Gabriel told me later, they ran through every letter in every script used by human beings and then they had to start over. Turns out there were plenty of ways –

But that doesn't matter right now. Plan B has its place in the story, and this isn't it.

So – I heard Dean say Lucifer was free and there was an Apocalypse on, and it freaked me out a little. Actually, it freaked me out a _lot_ – more than I ever freaked out over Lucifer when he was free in _our _world, because… Well, when Lucifer had been free in our world, I'd known he was evil, but I hadn't known just _how_ evil. By _this _time, I'd had Lucifer in my head. I knewwhat he was like, I knew the way his mind worked, and I _knew _exactly how scared we needed to be of him.

It's not just that Lucifer is insane or evil. We deal with plenty of insane, evil things, and facing creatures that kill for pure pleasure doesn't shock me anymore.

No, the problem with Lucifer is that he's definitely sane and he _wasn't_ always evil. He was twisted and corrupted, and he understands human beings better than any of the other angels. He understands how they function and what motivates them and – well, if Lucifer ever _does _get control of the world, it's going to be more horrific than most people can possibly imagine.

I was freaked out, and Dean was sitting there with that expression of despair that I knew _far _too well.

It was all wrong. The whole setup was wrong. Dean wasn't _supposed_ to look like that in a world where I didn't exist. Nobody close to him had betrayed him and he had Mom and Dad and, apparently, _Dave_, whoever he was, and –

Dean was _not _supposed to look like the world didn't have any meaning for him.

Dean got to his feet and walked to the bathroom door – right through me. I wasn't expecting the sudden movement and I couldn't get out of the way in time.

It was an odd feeling, tingly and not remotely pleasant.

It didn't seem to have been pleasant for Dean, either, because he stopped and looked around, scowling. "What the _hell_? Is the thermostat broken?"

Fortunately he didn't try to fix it.

While Dean was in the bathroom, I took the liberty of looking at his cell phone. I'd already figured out how to unlock it; with a few minutes' effort, I got the hang of sending little electromagnetic pulses to the sensors under the keypad.

Contacts list first. There weren't too many people on it – Mom and Dad, Dave, Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb, Ellen, Jo, Rufus –

So there you had it. All the people I'd killed by being alive.

For the first time, I wondered if turning Gabriel down really _would _be the right thing to do. I'd said I couldn't do that to Dean, but… Was I just being selfish? Did I _want_ Dean to want me around? He seemed happy like this – or at least no grumpier than usual. And Gabriel was right, how could Dean miss someone he'd never known?

But – no. Dean would never forgive me if he found out.

Did that _matter_, if he was going to be happier this way?

Was I just being selfish, wanting to live, wanting Dean to want me alive? Maybe Gabriel _didn't_ have an ulterior motive – or, if he did, maybe it was one that didn't suck.

Before I could pursue that thought any further, Dean emerged from the bathroom. I backed away from the phone and watched while he packed. He was being even more careless than usual, throwing stuff into his bag haphazardly – that dream must've freaked him out more than I thought.

Finally, with a sigh, he shouldered his duffel bag and left the room.

Unsure what to do, I followed.

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><p>Poor Sammy! Tough times ahead.<p>

What do you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	3. A Time to Plant

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's mine.

**Author's Note: **So… I have exams coming up, and I'm going to be _very_ busy doing last-minute cramming for the next couple of weeks. Before people panic, the story is fully written, so I should be able to get the updates done on schedule, no problem. But it does mean that I might not be able to reply to reviews right away. I do appreciate everyone who takes the time to comment and I will try to respond to all reviews (and I'll get to them eventually, it just might be late). I'm assuming (like I usually do under such circumstances) that if it comes down to a choice people would rather have the next chapter than the review reply.

So – thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Katy M VT, Scribble2Much, cold kagome, Kathryn Marie Black, cookjar, TinTin11, Kyelinn, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, BranchSuper, Yami Faerie, Sparkiebunny, SPN Mum, Abby, anonymous, hotshow, SandyDee84, PutMoneyInThyPurse, JustShyOfMe, sarah, jayfeather63, jensengirl4eva and Don'tCallMeSammy for the reviews!

Thanks to Cheryl for reading and listening!

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><p><strong>Chapter II: A Time to Plant, and a Time to Pluck Up that which Is Planted<strong>

The Impala was outside.

I didn't realize how worried I'd been about that until I saw her – _it_. Until I saw _it_. (Stupid Dean, giving me all his bad habits.)

Dean had tossed his bag in the back and was opening his door before I realized I was standing and gaping at the car like an idiot. I scrambled to get in – if I _could_ – before he left. I was more than half expecting that I'd just sink through the seat and land on my ass on the road –

And there I was, sitting in the Impala's passenger seat while Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot.

As he drove, Dean fumbled in his pocket and pulled out an iPod and plugged it into a jack on the dashboard.

A freaking _iPod_? An iPod plugged into his baby? Into _Dean's _baby_? _Seriously? Did Dean have an inner Apple geek that was being repressed by my presence?

Metallica began to blare from the speakers, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Apparently _some _things were the same in all dimensions.

To my surprise, though, the mullet rock didn't last long. I just had to sit through _Hit the Lights _and _The Four Horsemen_, and then suddenly Dean was pulling over, wrenching the iPod from the jack so violently that he nearly ripped the wire, and slamming his fists into the dashboard.

"Dean?" I tried, although I knew he couldn't hear me. "Dude, what the hell?"

"Damn it," was all Dean said. "Damn it damn it damn it damn it DAMN IT."

"_Dean?_"

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed Speed Dial 1 again.

"Mom – I don't get it! I'm going crazy. I – I keep thinking there's something wrong and there should be someone with me and – and I keep almost saying something to them and there's nobody _here_! It's just me! I just – I don't know. I mean, I can _see _there's nobody here, but my brain's telling me there should be someone and… When? Oh, yeah, it just started this morning… Yeah. Yeah, OK. I'm on my way."

Dean hung up and sat there, breathing heavily, hands resting on the steering wheel.

I was starting to feel guilty. As if it weren't bad enough that I'd screwed up his life in _our _reality, I had to show up at the wrong time and throw him off in this dimension, too.

But Gabriel had said that if he did the thing properly, I wouldn't be here.

Maybe I could do that myself? Just disappear? Go off to wherever ghosts went when they got shot full of rock salt?

I shut my eyes, concentrated, and tried to go into the light.

It didn't work.

_Brilliant. _Not only was I a spirit, I was a spirit who couldn't disappear at will. Apparently in _every _dimension it sucked to be Sam Winchester.

But – wait. I still didn't have to go with Dean, right? I didn't get why the Impala was holding me when I'd been able to slide right through the passenger door without opening it, but I'd slid _in_, which meant I could slide _out_.

I got out of the car and moved to the side of the road. It didn't seem like anyone could see me, but I didn't want to risk making some poor guy crash. It was a deserted stretch of road; if someone _did _get into an accident, help might be hours coming.

A couple of minutes later Dean pulled himself together and started the car.

I stood well back and watched it pass me, feeling like it was taking a part of my soul with it.

I know, I know… Over-dramatization. Dean would call me a girl. It's not like we've never fought, and Dean _has _driven away without me before. But it was the first time I'd felt like he was getting to go to a good life, a _better _life, and I was just a distraction keeping him away from it.

I watched until the car was just a speck on the horizon, I watched until Dean was out of my sight –

And then I felt a sharp tug somewhere in the region of my navel.

A moment later I was back in the Impala.

What the _hell_?

I felt like I did that awful night after Lucifer told me I was destined to be his vessel.

The aftermath of that, by the way, is one thing Dean _doesn't _know about. It's best that way. He wouldn't get it – or maybe he would, but he wouldn't _like _it, and with Dean that's the same thing. It was the right thing to do, with Lucifer wanting to use me to end the world. I had to try to kill myself, to put myself out of his reach. It obviously didn't work (just like he promised), and there was no point pissing Dean off more by telling him about it, so I didn't then. And now – why rake it up? It's over, Lucifer's back in the Cage (I hope) and in any case he's unlikely to want me as a vessel again.

Anyway, I did everything I could think of – I cut my wrists, I stabbed myself, I shot myself in the head –

Each time I woke up in an increasingly messy but very real motel room.

I could feel that same frustrated desperation welling up as I found myself back in the Impala and Dean started casting tiny, suspicious glances in my direction. He couldn't see me, but he obviously knew there was something there.

When Dean stopped for lunch, I tried to go away again. I got out of the diner and about half a mile down the street before I felt the tug and found myself sitting in the booth opposite Dean.

The rest of the day's driving wasn't much fun.

Dean was obviously on edge. He kept shooting sidelong glances in my direction, muttering and shaking his head. Once he pulled over, stretched out a hand, and waved it right through my chest. It gave me that weird tingly feeling again, and Dean withdrew his hand quickly with a grimace.

"Bloody stupid imagination."

He didn't drive too long – probably didn't want to risk driving in the dark with some mysterious _thing _in the car with him. It was barely beginning to get dark when he pulled into a motel driveway. I followed him when he went inside to ask the pretty redhead at the check-in desk about a room.

"Single?" she asked.

"Twin," Dean said. Then he frowned, as though the word had snuck through his lips without his knowledge.

"Oh, you're here with…"

"I'm alone." Normally this would've been Dean's cue to start flirting, but he looked more bewildered than anything. "I just… I don't know. I feel like I need a twin room."

"Sure thing. If you'll sign there, Mr…?"

"Lawson," Dean said, grabbing the register and scribbling in it. "Dean Lawson."

"And will that be by card?"

"Yeah… Here."

He pushed a fake credit card across the desk to her. She took it, swiped it, and nodded, pulling a key from the drawer and handing it to him. "Great. You're in Number Eight, that's outside to the left and four doors down."

"Thanks."

Dean didn't go drinking – I'd been pretty sure he wouldn't; he wouldn't have wanted to add a hangover to his problems. He called Mom again and told her where he was.

Then he called Dave.

This time Dave picked up.

"Hey, dude!" Dean said. "Where are you?" Whatever Dave said in reply made him laugh. "That's my boy! Real chick magnet, huh? I knew you'd turn out just like me, little brother."

I stopped short in the act of trying to make the curtains flutter.

What was it Gabriel had said?

_How do you know he won't have one? A different one, one who listens to him and doesn't talk back all the time?_

I hadn't given it much thought – but wasn't that what Dean had always wanted? A little brother like him, a little brother he could trust?

My throat was burning.

It was stupid to feel bad about it – stupid and selfish. I cared about Dean, didn't I? I wanted him to be happy. I wanted my parents to be happy. And if what made them happy was not having me in their lives…

Maybe it was best. At least if Dean never knew me, he'd never be disappointed in me.

If Dean never knew me, I could never let him down.

I didn't really pay attention to the rest of what Dean was saying… Some argument about which Motorhead song was the best, a promise to meet Dave and Lawrence and a bit of happy discussion of some bar they apparently frequented there.

Was Dean a hunter in this dimension? I couldn't really tell. He'd said he was on a job, but that might mean anything.

Hunter or not, he was happy. He had everything he'd always wanted.

Maybe Gabriel _had _been right.

Besides… It was true my life had been miserable, but that wasn't really the point, was it? I was just one person. I could wallow in self-pity all I wanted, but ultimately my life was what it was – and a lot of it was down to me and my decisions. And _clearly _I hadn't been the only sufferer. My messed-up existence had made a lot of lives harder.

It had made _Dean's _life harder.

I'd always suspected that, but it hurt to have confirmation of it.

In the meantime, Dean had finished talking to Dave, dropped the phone on the nightstand and gone to take a shower. I briefly considered going through the phone and checking out his messages – but what was the point? I knew enough.

I tried to sleep that night. Didn't take me long to discover that spirits can't sleep. It was annoying, because although I wasn't physically tired, I was mentally exhausted, and I would have welcomed the relief of a few hours' oblivion. Instead, all I got to do was sit on the floor (because when I tried to sit on the bed I sank right through it) and worry.

No wonder ghosts are so cranky. There aren't words to describe how boring and infuriating it can be.

The next day's driving was pretty much the same. Dean drove, kept glaring in my direction, and put his arm through me a couple of times. I didn't know why he didn't just shoot me full of rock salt. (I still don't. I asked him later, and he just shrugged and said, "No way I was going to let myself hurt you more than I'd already done." It made no sense at all, because it's not like he knew it was me or even _remembered _me. Idiot.)

We got to Lawrence just as the sun was setting.

Not knowing what else to do, I followed Dean inside.

It was a nice house. It was obviously a place where hunters lived. (That answered one question – Dean _hadn't _managed to stay out of the life.) The shelves held a mixture of fiction, classical literature and mediaeval codices. A locked glass cupboard in the corner had three ancient-looking grimoires. There were pictures – Dean and another kid who looked exactly like him, probably about six years younger. Dean was carrying him (probably more comfortably than he ever carried me, given the extra two years), playing ball with him, they were both riding bikes with Dad, sitting in the garden with Mom…

I backed off. I'd seen enough.

Mom came down the stairs, laughing, and hugged Dean. He hugged her back, stepped away to look at her, told her she was still hot enough to get any guy she wanted –

I swallowed. If Gabriel was trying to persuade me that my family was better off without me, he was doing a good job of it.

"So, tell me," Mom said, sitting down on the sofa and drawing Dean down next to her. "What have your nightmares been like? The same thing?"

"Always the same guy. And the thing is… I feel like I know him."

"You mean you've seen him before?"

"I haven't. Ever. I'm sure of that. But… I can't explain it, Mom. It's like we're connected. The way he _looks _at me, it's like he knows me better than anyone ever could – like he's seeing right into my soul."

"Has he ever threatened you?"

"No. He just looks at me like I – I don't know. Like I let him down. I don't know how or what I did. Maybe he died in a fire, and I didn't help him when I had the chance. I just don't know."

"Dean –"

"And I _hate _it. I'm not supposed to let him down. I'm _never _supposed to let him down. He trusted me – trusted me the way _nobody _else does. I can feel that." He broke off and ran his hands through his hair. "Mom, I'm going crazy, right?"

"No, sweetie," Mom said gently. "You're not. We'll figure it out. Let your and Dave get here. I'll call Bobby. He might know something about this."

"You think it's tied in to the Apocalypse?"

"I don't know, sweetie."

"You have no idea who he could be?"

"No, Dean. I don't."

I was watching her, and I knew she was lying.

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	4. A Time to Kill

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Alas.

**Author's Note:** Turns out I left out one pretty important word in the last chapter. Oops. (And thank you to BranchSuper for pointing it out!) The word was 'father' in, 'Let your father and Dave get here.' Sorry about that. My bad. I'll fix it in the chapter when I have more time.

Thanks to Cheryl for vetting my work, and to cold kagome, L Moonshade, beyondtired, Kyelinn, Sparkiebunny, Nyx Ro, BranchSuper, sarah, Lilyoda, starfan1245, Yami Faerie, primadonna cat, APRIL26, SandyDee84, DontCallMeSammy, jayfeather63, Jester's Tear82, SPN Mum, cookjar, hotshow, TinTin11 and Ceesnfannotlogged for the reviews!

And now… We left the boys at a difficult moment.

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><p><strong>Chapter III: A Time to Kill, and a Time to Heal<strong>

In about fifteen minutes, Dad was home.

When I saw him, I could barely believe that it was _him_. He was happy and smiling, clapping Dean on the shoulder and asking him how he was. Not a word about training or hunting or the Yellow-Eyed Demon and not a sign that he'd turned into a drill sergeant.

Dean repeated his story. He was calmer this time, and he filled in more details. Mom and Dad looked more worried than (in my opinion) the dreams merited. It was obvious that _they _had guessed that he was dreaming of me, even if they didn't tell him so.

It didn't make much sense to me – in this world I'd died as a baby. How could Dean be dreaming of an adult version of me?

But however illogical it was, having upsetting dreams of his dead brother had to be preferable to having weird psychic nightmares and developing freakish powers. _Dean _clearly wasn't meant to break the world.

Dean could tell that Mom and Dad were keeping something from him – I could see that much. He wasn't happy it, but he didn't say anything. It reminded me of all the times growing up when Dad had expected us to do as he said without asking questions, when Dean had been the good little soldier and I'd poked and prodded until Dad and I both started yelling.

I found it mildly annoying, but Dean's attitude didn't infuriate me as much as it had when we'd been growing up – maybe because this time, I had the answers, and if he didn't want to push for them…

Oh, who am I trying to kid? Of _course _it infuriated me! It infuriated the hell out of me. And it hurt, because Dean's one exception to his good little soldier rule had been when he thought my wellbeing would be affected by it –

"_No_," Dean said decisively, stopping my thoughts in their tracks. "_No_, I don't think that's all there is to it! It isn't some random dream – and you know that. You _both _know that. I can tell."

Yup. Dean's one exception, even when he _didn't _realize why he was making it.

"Dean, sweetie, I'm sure it's nothing," Mom soothed.

"_Really?_ If you were so sure, why'd you tell me to dump everything and come straight back here to discuss it? It's not like there aren't any other jobs waiting for me. You _know _there's something – and you know what it is."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean," Dad said. _There _was the drill sergeant. "Your mother's right. It's probably nothing – or if it _is_ something, it's being put in your head by somebody. You know what we're up against here – the kind of power the angels have. And _nobody_ is on our side. We can't trust anyone."

"I can trust him," Dean said stubbornly.

"_Who?_"

"The guy in my dream."

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. Finally, with a sigh, Mom said, "Dean, you don't even know who he is –"

"Maybe, but I know I can trust him. And I know you're keeping something from me. You've got an idea who he is and you're not telling me –"

"Dean –"

"Don't lie to me, Dad! Just – _don't_. The angels and demons and all the other sons of bitches have been lying to us enough without us lying to each other."

Mom and Dad looked at him. He glared back. The standoff was short and it ended with Dean storming out.

_Huh._

_That _was a very different Dean from the one I knew. Dean _argue _with Dad – and _Mom _– and walk out? And from the way Mom and Dad were looking at each other, it wasn't all that unusual.

I hurried after Dean before quantum mechanics or string theory or whatever the hell it was could push me out. The sensation of being tugged through space-time was an unpleasant one (seriously, _much _worse than that finger-to-forehead thing Cas does) and I had absolutely no desire to experience it again.

Dean stomped (just like a six-year-old) upstairs. He threw open a door, marched through it, and slammed it behind him before I could follow. I walked through it, the whole spirit business finally proving useful for _something_.

Dean was sitting on his bed in the same attitude of miserable despair that I'd seen – and deplored – earlier. I stood and watched him for a minute – two – and then it was too much. I didn't know if I could get through to him, if I could help him in any way at all, but he was my big brother and I had to try.

I didn't want to freak him out enough to make him start shooting, so I didn't try to touch him.

I dropped to my knees in front of him. "Dean? Dude, I know you can't hear me now, and I'm probably just talking to myself here, but… if you can, if you've got _any _idea what I'm saying… You've got nothing to worry about. You don't remember me, but I'm your brother. I promise I'm not going to hurt you. You… You don't have to be afraid."

Because apparently in _every _world I was something Dean needed to be scared of.

Dean took his hands away from his face and looked straight _at me_, and for a moment I dared – almost – to hope that there was something there.

He reached out, hand brushing the top of my head. I _knew _he couldn't feel anything but he kept his hand there, he was looking right into my eyes and –

And Gabriel chose that exact moment to show up. His sudden arrival startled me so much that I fell back onto my rear (although, since I had no tailbone to injure, it didn't really hurt). Dean seemed to sense the loss of contact. He snatched his hand back and looked around fearfully.

"Dude." I got to my feet. "What the hell?"

"Good evening to you, too, Sam. I've had a wonderful day. How has yours been?"

"Sucky. Thanks to you."

"Been facing a few hard truths, have we?"

"Why are you doing this?" Gabriel had the nerve to raise one eyebrow like he didn't know what I was talking about and was hurt that I could sound so suspicious. If I'd had physical hands I would've throttled him. "You're _obviously _not doing this out of kindness. I don't think you even comprehend the word. So what's your angle? What are you getting out of this other than the perverse pleasure of screwing with people's lives?"

"_Sammy._" Now Gabriel looked disappointed, like I was a star student who'd managed to score a D. "We both know you're smart. You'll figure it out."

"Why are you here?"

"Are you ready to say yes yet?"

"Are you ready to tell me what your game is?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Fair enough. We'll give it a few more days, then. Is there anything you need before I go? Questions answered? Advice solicited?"

"Yeah," I said. "What's going on with me and Dean? How come he can sense me? And how come I can't get too far away from him?"

"Ah, yes, that. I've been dividing my time in Heaven between Albert Einstein and your friend Ash, and I think I know what the problem is. Your soul and Dean's are still tied together. It's because of the nature of this world – an alternate dimension, like I told you. If I actually do go back and change time, that won't happen. You can't be the soulmate of someone you've never known."

"So his nightmares…"

"Brought on by your arrival. And his. I moved both of you, but Dean didn't keep his memories."

"I don't get it. He was having nightmares before – well, before we got here. He told Mom about them. Apparently it's been happening for _months_."

"Naturally. My bringing you and Dean here caused a ripple in space-time. And ripples move in all directions, Sammy. Forward – and back. So Dean's nightmares started before you got here. It should be perfectly simple, even for a human being. And now I've wasted enough time. I really have to go. I have important things to do. Stay out of trouble, little Sammy."

And Gabriel was gone.

During our conversation, Dean had gone to the window. He was looking out of it, not really seeing anything, and it killed me that there was nothing I could do to help him. It made me feel even more useless than usual to be stuck there unable to do anything but _watch _as the stress took my brother apart. And it wasn't fair because I was dead – the freak was dead, and that was supposed to mean no Apocalypse. I still didn't know what the deal with that was. I should've asked Gabriel.

A car engine rumbled outside, and Dean brightened.

He flung himself out of the room and ran down the stairs. I followed just in time to see him hug the new arrival – a younger man who looked enough like Dean to make the relationship evident.

So this was Dave.

Dave seemed a lot like Dean in more than just looks. He had the same swagger, the same sense of humour, and the same killer smile. They spent the evening laughing and joking about girls and cars and cars and girls, and I felt a pang. Was this what Dean had wanted from me and never got?

After dinner, they shut themselves in Dean's room, and Dean _finally _opened up.

He told Dave everything – more than he would've told me. Not just the dream, but how much it freaked him out and how he felt guilty but didn't know what to do. Dave heard him out and then said, "Maybe we could ask Bobby? Or Caleb or Pastor Jim? They might know something."

"If Mom and Dad won't tell us, you think _they _will?"

"It's worth a shot."

Dean nodded, said they could call Bobby in the morning, and then Dave left.

Dean went to bed soon after, and since I had a lot more questions and I knew it would be useless to try to sleep, I unlocked his cell phone again. I didn't bother with the texts. I went straight to his voicemail inbox – this Dean seemed incredibly lax about deleting old messages – and started to listen to them.

Of course there were the obligatory ones from random girls that made me want to claw my brain out. There was someone called Brandi who wanted to – actually, you know what? The details don't matter. There's no need to spread the horror. Suffice it to say that for the most part Dean's voicemails were X-rated. In the worst possible way.

There were a few that weren't, though. Voices I recognized – Bobby and Dad, Pastor Jim, Mom, Dave, Caleb –

And then suddenly I heard a voice that I knew _entirely _too well.

"Dean? I haven't heard from you for the past three hours. Call me, man."

That was _me_. I had no idea when the voicemail was from – it was the kind of thing we left for each other at least twice a week, when one of us forgot to check in and tell the other that he was fine, not kidnapped and not hurt, and he was going to be late getting back to the motel because he was chasing down a lead.

It couldn't be –

But it _was_.

It was Sam Winchester, unmistakeably, irrefutably Sam Winchester.

This was just creepy.

Before I could recover from the shock, I heard my voice again. "Dean, I'm going to be late. One of the victims has just regained consciousness. I'm going to try to get his side of the story."

_That _voicemail I _did _remember – a werewolf hunt down in New Mexico.

They just kept coming.

"Dude, I _told _you she was out of your league."

"I'm done. Can you come get me?"

"_No_, I am _not _going to stop and get you an extra-large side of fries. Seriously, Dean, you want a heart condition to kill you before a monster can?"

"Dean, pick up. We need to talk."

"Dean, I can't –"

I turned it off and backed away. This was starting to get out of hand, even for us.

This really should've been the moment for Dean to wake up. There I was, looking at the cell phone like it had grown fangs and was about to bite me. I was thoroughly freaked out and on the verge of hyperventilating. (Yeah, I know, spirits don't breathe. But they _do _hyperventilate. Ask Gabriel. He's the one who can do particle physics.) If Dean had had the _slightest _sense of drama, he should've shot awake, sat straight up in bed, and said, "Don't worry, Sam. I've got this."

Instead, he slept on, unaware of my distress, and actually woke up half an hour later, by which time I'd calmed myself down. Jerk.

I had – and I still have – no idea what woke Dean up. Dean claims it was his big-brother radar going off. Considering that I was fine and unhurt – and, moreover, that the damn big-brother radar _didn't _go off when it would actually have been useful – I have my doubts. He probably just had a nightmare about someone taking away his jelly donuts.

Dean woke up, yawned, stared at the ceiling, yawned again, and _then _he sat up in bed.

Then he said, "It's stronger here."

This was just plain weird. Dean'd _never _been one to talk to himself.

Of course, Dean had never had to.

Dean was still talking. "It's stronger here, so whatever is causing it has to be here, right?" When nobody answered him, he said more forcefully, "_Right?_"

"Dude, whatever," I said. "You're the one talking to yourself."

Dean got out of bed, put on his boots and jacket, and left the room. I went with him. It wasn't like I had anything better to do.

It took me a while to figure out where Dean was going, and when I did I almost turned around and went straight back.

He was going to Stull Cemetery.

I – _couldn't_. Not Stull. Not the memory of Lucifer in my head, using _my _hands to hurt Dean, Dean's blood on my knuckles and the Impala's windshield cracking and then that ridiculous army man –

And then the Pit.

I just _couldn't _go back there.

But I didn't really have a choice, did I? It wasn't like getting out of the Impala and walking away was an option.

So we went there, and Dean, for some reason – no doubt the Fates had decided to revive their monthly Let's Screw With Sam Week – went in through the same gate. _That _gate.

And parked the Impala… _there_.

He got out, locked it, and began walking in the direction of the rows of headstones. I don't know what he expected to see. He was probably just hoping that if he looked at all the graves, _something _would jog his memory.

Dean tripped.

If my heart _had _been beating, it would've stopped. Because the place where Dean tripped was _the _place. The exact spot where I flung the rings down and spoke the words to open the Cage. The spot where I fell.

For a moment I was terrified that Dean had somehow opened it, that he was going to fall and I wouldn't be able to stop it –

He said, "Son of a _bitch_," and I knew he was fine.

He got down to his knees and began scrabbling on the ground, trying to find whatever had tripped him. The place was more overgrown than I remembered – bracken and moss covered the ground, and some sort of low shrub was over everything. You could barely even see –

Dean frowned. He'd found something.

I went closer. It looked like he'd found a headstone – but _there_? I couldn't remember there having been a headstone _there_.

It was barely visible, completely covered with moss and grass and weeds. No wonder Dean hadn't seen it. Whoever was buried under there was clearly not missed, considering they'd put the poor sap in this out-of-the-way corner and it looked like _nobody_ had bothered to visit his grave _ever_.

The pieces connected. Long before Dean started brushing moss and dirt off the inscription, I knew what he would find. And for the first time, I was glad I was dead. I only wished I could stop _feeling_, too.

Dean's hand brushed away decades of accumulated mud.

_Samuel Winchester  
>May 2, 1983 – November 2, 1983<em>

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	5. A Time to Break Down

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **I wasn't planning to post this today, but people seemed a lot more agonized at the end of the last chapter than I expected, so… Even _I'm _not that mean. Here you go!

I haven't had time to reply to reviews… Sorry about that. With luck I should be able to get to them this weekend; if not then next weekend for sure. I do appreciate every review and I'll reply as soon as I can.

Thanks to criminally charmed, Don'tCallMeSammy, Jester's Tear82, Yami Faerie, anonymous, APRIL26, jensengirl4eva, TinTin11, AlwaysTardy, cold kagome, Nyx Ro, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, sarah, cookjar, SandyDee84, Kyelinn, Scribble2Much, jayfeather63, teal-lover, casammy, Lilyoda, Sparkiebunny, putmoneyinthypurse, twomom and BranchSuper for the reviews.

Thanks to Cheryl for vetting this!

This is likely going to be the last update until Sunday, when I'll hopefully have a bit of free time. So it's back to studying for me, and I hope you enjoy this.

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><p><strong>Chapter IV: A Time to Break Down, and Time to Build Up<strong>

I have no idea what I'd expected. Certainly not a marble tombstone with carved angels on it – all things taken into account, I would've _hated _having angels on my tombstone.

But I hadn't expected… _this_. A forgotten grave in a corner of the cemetery that nobody ever went to, like somebody with a sick sense of humour (_yes_, Gabriel, I _am _talking about you) had nudged my parents into picking _that _spot.

"Oh, God," Dean breathed. Trembling hands reached out to touch the headstone, his fingers ran over the inscription slowly, carefully, as though he was trying to memorize the feel of it. "Six _months_?" And then, "How the hell do I not remember? I was four – almost five. I should remember _something_."

Dean was distraught and it showed. I found myself loving my big brother more than ever.

After several minutes on his knees in the long grass – and he wasn't seventeen anymore; I'm sure it wasn't fun – he got to his feet, scrubbing at his eyes.

He didn't go home.

Instead, I found myself sitting next to him in an all-night cafe while he trawled the Internet.

Dean took a while (although less time than I expected; for once he wasn't distracted by Busty Asian Beauties). Eventually he turned up a newspaper article from November 3 that year.

I leaned in to read it over his shoulder.

_In a terrible tragedy, a fire has claimed the life of a six-month old child. It is believed, although we do not yet have an official statement, that the fire was started by faulty wiring in the child's nursery. The victim's identity has been confirmed as Sam Winchester. He is survived by his parents and an older brother, Dean._

Dean drew in a deep breath. And then another.

And then he started right out sobbing.

I didn't get it. I _really _didn't. (Dean said later that if it wasn't obvious to me why he was upset then I was the biggest idiot on the planet, which is distinctly unfair. I'm not questioning that if I died _now_ he'd be more than just upset, or that he was heartbroken when I jumped into the Pit. What I wanted to know was why alternate-dimension Dean was suddenly losing it over a decades-old accident. It wasn't like he even remembered me.)

Except – well, Gabriel _had_ said this was _Dean_, my Dean, just with a memory wipe…

I felt wretchedly helpless. I'd never seen Dean lose control like this – not when Dad died, not at his lowest point in the year leading up to Stull Cemetery – and it killed me that I couldn't do anything to help him. I tried reaching out a couple of times, but I pulled back at the last minute, not wanting to freak him out.

Dean cried for ten minutes. Then, still shaking, he shut his laptop, put it away, and got to his feet.

And spent the rest of the night curled up in the Impala's passenger seat.

He finally knocked off around three in the morning. I was grateful: _one _of us needed to be well-rested, and since, thanks to Gabriel, it couldn't be me…

I sat in the driver's seat and watched him. (Dean always looks incredibly _peaceful_ when he's asleep – except when Hell nightmares are keeping him awake, which fortunately doesn't happen all that much now.)

His back wasn't going to thank him in the morning, but there was nothing I could do about it. In our world, we'd slept in the Impala hundreds of times, and I was sure the Dean in this reality had done the same thing. He'd live.

I amused myself figuring out how to work the tape deck controls. It was harder than the cell phone, since the tape deck was probably the one part of the car that really _did _date back to 1967. It took some effort, and a lot of Dean jerking half-awake and muttering, "Son of a _bitch_," when I accidentally zapped the wrong wire, but eventually I got it.

Dean's phone rang just as I finished setting the radio to a country music station that I knew would piss him off as soon as he turned the key in the ignition.

It rang four times and went to voicemail. Then it rang again.

Dean groaned and grabbed it.

"Yeah?" I could hear a familiar raised voice on the other end. "Dad, no I'm fine. I just – I'm at a bar." More shouting. "No, I'm OK to drive… _Yes_, I'm sure. I'm coming home."

I was out of the Impala before Dean had turned off the engine. (He'd been too distraught to notice the country music, and Taylor Swift's voice was crooning through the speakers. I almost felt bad for pulling a prank on him.)

Dean pulled out the key, abruptly shutting off both the purring of the V8 and _Back to December_. Thank God.

Mom, Dad and Dave were all standing on the front porch. Dad looked like he was ready to light into Dean, but one look at Dean's face stopped him.

Dean didn't look distraught anymore. He looked furious.

I knew that look. Every supernatural fugly or human being who'd ever choked me or shot at me or put a knife in me knew that look.

Evidently Mom and Dad didn't know that look, or Dad wouldn't have opened by saying, "What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?"

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Dean asked in a low, angry voice that should've been an even clearer warning than the look. "What the hell is wrong with _me_? You've got the nerve to ask me that?"

"Dean –"

"Were you ever going to tell me – us?" Dean demanded, his glance encompassing Dave. "Or were you just going to let the whole thing go and hope we never found out? How could you _do _that?"

"Dean," Dad said, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

It was a brave attempt. I had to grant him that. But a stupid one. John Winchester in _this _world had never had a chance to learn what John Winchester in our world had known by Dean's fifth birthday.

"Don't _lie_," Dean snarled. "I went by the cemetery last night. You want to know what I found there, Dad?"

Dad went pale, but he stood his ground.

"You can't believe everything you see, Dean. You know that. With the Apocalypse happening and both sides trying to manipulate you, you don't know _which _angel or demon could have put something there to freak you out. It's probably not even true."

"Yeah? Not _true_?" Dean hissed, sounding angrier than ever. "You want to know what I saw? Samuel Winchester, born May 2, 1983, died November 2, 1983. That's what I saw. You want to look me in the eye and tell me that's _not true_?"

"What!" Dave said, sounding shocked, but not as grief-stricken as Dean had been. "What are you talking about?"

"Why don't you ask Mom and Dad? I'm sure they know more about it than we do. How about it, Dad? You still going to tell me that it's a demon's lie, or are you going to tell me whatever it is that you've been hiding from me all my life?"

"Inside," Dad said tersely.

They went in.

The tension seemed stronger, more palpable, when it was enclosed by the four walls of the living room. For several seconds nobody said anything. Dean broke the silence with, "_Well?_"

It was Mom who answered. "Sam was – your brother. I'm sorry we didn't tell you about him, Dean, but you were so young when he died – we thought it was for the best."

"The _best_?" Dean repeated incredulously. "You thought it was for the best to pretend that my brother – your _son_ – never existed? You thought it was for the best to let his grave get so overgrown that if I hadn't freaking _tripped_ over it because of the freaking _plants_ growing over the headstone, I wouldn't even have known it was _there_? You that _that _was for the best?"

"Dean," Dad interjected, "there's a lot you don't know."

"And how come I don't remember him?" Dean went on, ignoring Dad. "I was four years old when he was born. I should remember _something_, right? How come I don't have a single memory of Sam? Did you do something to make me forget?"

"Dean!" Mom protested. "We didn't. I promise you that. We just didn't talk about him in front of you, and a few months later it seemed like you were starting to forget and we just… Let it happen. You loved Sam so much, we thought you'd never get over it if we didn't –"

"I _loved _him?"

"You were prouder than anything I've ever seen the day you became a big brother," Mom said, sounding choked up. I felt a little flare of warmth. "And you were so good with Sammy. He adored you. You could always get him to stop crying, even when I couldn't. We were dead sure his first word was going to be 'Dean'. And then…"

"And then there was the fire," Dad continued. "He died, and we thought…"

"You thought you could just pretend he'd never existed, and that would somehow make it _better_?" Then, as though a sudden thought was striking him, "The fire he died in… It wasn't faulty wiring, was it?"

"Dean, let it go."

"You owe me the truth, Dad."

"You owe _us_ the truth," Dave said quietly, from where he'd move to stand next to Dean. "I might never have known Sam, but he's just as much my brother as Dean's."

That shouldn't have made me happy – I mean, I didn't even _know _Dave – but it did.

"Dad?"

Dad sighed. "It was Azazel."

"Azazel?" Dean repeated, eyes ablaze with a fire remarkably close to the one Caleb had dubbed 'You dared lay your filthy hands on my Sammy'. "_Azazel? _When I get my hands on that yellow-eyed son of a bitch –"

"You think we haven't tried?" Dad asked. "That was why your mother got back into hunting. That was why I joined her. We spent years trying to track him down – and not just us. Bobby helped. And the Campbells. Christian almost got him, too, but he got away at the last minute."

"Wait – _Christian _knew about this? _Christian_ knew we had a brother and you thought _we _didn't need to know?"

"Dean, we thought it was best – for you."

Dean shook his head. "_Why?_" And then, frowning, "And why'd Azazel kill him, anyway? What'd he got against Sam?"

"He's a demon, Dean. He didn't need to have anything against Sam to want to kill him."

"Yeah, but so what? From what we know, he's been busy helping Lucifer. You really expect me to believe he had _free time _to go wandering around the country killing random babies? You really expect me to believe that _you _believe that? Exactly how stupid do you think I _am_?"

"Dean, we don't think you're stupid."

"He's the person I've been dreaming about," Dean said. "Sam. Isn't he? And you _knew _that."

"There's no way we can be certain," Dad hedged.

"But you suspected!"

"Maybe we did, but there's no percentage in thinking about it. It's over and he's dead."

"And that's it for you?"

Dad opened his mouth, but Mom got in before him. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry. We're both sorry. We were wrong to keep it from you. But we were trying to do what was best for you and Dave. Can't you just let it go at that?"

"No," Dean growled. "No, I can't."

He stomped off up the stairs.

Dave beat me up the stairs. I still hadn't got the hang of that disappear-and-reappear thing spirits did, and I was too tired to walk quickly. Seriously, what did ghosts _do _for rest?

"I can't believe it," Dean said as soon as Dave was through the door. "I can't believe they _kept _it from us."

"I know, man," Dave said quietly.

"I don't _get_ it." Dean sounded like he was going to cry. "How could I have loved somebody – _that _much – and not remember a single thing? How could they have _let _me forget?"

"Sucks," Dave sympathized.

"They're still not telling us everything. Azazel didn't just randomly decide to go after Sam. _Something _happened."

"I know, Dean. We'll figure it out."

"Now I know why he _looks _at me like that whenever I dream about him. He was my little brother. I should've saved him. I should've –"

"C'mon, man," Dave said. "You were a kid yourself. And you would never let anyone down, least of all your brother. I should know that. I don't know what happened, but there's no way it was your fault."

"I don't even remember what he _looked _like."

"Dean." Dave shot him a stern look. "Calm _down_. It's going to be OK. We'll sort this out. We'll speak to whoever we have to, we'll figure out what happened to _our _brother, and then we'll kill the son of a bitch who did it to him." Dean nodded. "Good. Now, you just… Just _stay _here and try not to hyperventilate. I'm going to see what I can track down. There must be someone in this town who remembers something. It wasn't _that _long ago."

Dave left.

Alone, Dean paced up and down a few times, steadied his breathing, and finally picked up his cell phone. He punched in a number.

"Hello… Missouri? I need to talk to you."

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	6. A Time to Weep

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who wished me luck! Just one more exam to go.

This chapter has a bit less action… But I'll make up for it next time.

Thanks to Cheryl… You know why.

And my wonderful reviewers… XspriteyX, twomoms, Yami Faerie, cold kagome, MysteryMadchen, APRIL26, Amy90, cookjar, Kittle, TinTin11, BranchSuper, Lilyoda, SandyDee84, SPN Mum, Scribble2Much, casammy, jayfeather63, Hunnique, sarah and Kyelinn.

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><p><strong>Chapter V: A Time to Weep, and a Time to Laugh<strong>

This was going to be fun.

The odds that Missouri would be able to see me were too high for comfort. I was pretty sure she would, and how was I supposed to explain things to her? Even a psychic would have trouble believing in the stupid games that every supernatural thing on the planet had decided to play with my life.

But there was nothing for it; since I was tied to Dean, as Gabriel put it, I'd just have to go with him and hope for the best.

The odd thing? My fears proved utterly unfounded.

It wasn't that Missouri didn't see me. She _did_; I walked into her house right behind Dean, and for a fraction of a second – long enough for me to know it wasn't an accident, but not long enough for Dean to notice – she met my eyes.

Then she turned to him, got him a cup of tea, and asked him to tell her everything.

Dean didn't tell her _everything_, but he told her all the facts. His dreams, his sense of somebody being around, the grave, the newspaper article, and Mom and Dad's evasions. Missouri listened, nodded at the right moments, patted his knee when the occasion called for it, and finally said, "Well, what do you want from me, honey?"

"Do you know anything about it? And… The feeling I've been getting. Is that Sam? Is he here?"

"I know Sammy was the sweetest baby I ever saw, even counting you and David. I don't know anything about the fire, though. And… Yes, Dean, Sam's here. I don't think he wants to hurt you. You've got nothing to be afraid of."

"I knew _that_," Dean said impatiently. "Is he… upset with me?"

Missouri looked at me and then back at Dean. "I don't think so. He's not saying anything, honey, so I don't really know what he wants."

"Can't you read his mind?"

Missouri looked at me again. I felt something, a consciousness brushing against mine. I knew she meant no harm, but there was too much in my head – too many memories that nobody could be allowed to touch.

I'm not sure what exactly I did to shut myself off from her. It had nothing to do with psychic powers; I know how it feels to use _those_, and I didn't have a migraine – not even a mild headache – after I'd done it. It was more like what I did to shut Lucifer out. (Not that I'm trying to suggest that Missouri is or ever could be _anything_ like Lucifer.)

Anyway – I shut her out.

She stared at me, shocked, before turning to Dean.

"I can't. It's hard to read spirits' minds anyway – it doesn't come automatically the way it does with living people. But Sam won't let me see anything at all."

"People can _stop _you from seeing inside their heads?"

"It looks like your brother can." She looked back at me. "Sam, honey, I hope you didn't take that the wrong way. I wasn't trying to pry. Is there anything you want to say to Dean?"

I hesitated. There were a hundred things going through my head, beginning with, "Promise you'll always be my brother," all clamouring to be communicated – but, from the look of it, I couldn't waste time on indulgences. The world might seem like it was all sunshine and roses, but if everything I'd heard was true, the Apocalypse was very much on track.

And it looked like Gabriel in _this _dimension hadn't been as obliging as Gabriel in _ours_.

How much did Missouri know about the Apocalypse? I couldn't say too much…

Besides, what could I tell Dean that'd be useful? And what if he decided that in my absence, it was down to him to walk Lucifer into the Cage? It was one thing to condemn myself to Lucifer's torture – the world had been ending around us and we'd been out of options. _This _world, on the other hand, seemed to have a lot of people still fighting. They might find a solution. There was no way I was pushing anybody down _that _path without being certain that there was nothing else to be done.

"Tell him I've got his back," I said quietly.

Dean's smile when she repeated the words to him was enough. He might not remember me – he hadn't had a clue who I was until the previous night – but he was still my big brother.

He hung around for a while, talking to Missouri. He didn't ask her to put any questions to me, although I was sure there was plenty he wanted to know. He must've guessed that I didn't really want to talk in front of anyone else.

"Isn't there any way I can talk to him directly?" Dean asked wistfully at one point, eyes staring unerringly at the spot where I was.

"He can hear you, honey," Missouri said gently. "When he's ready to talk to you, he'll find a way to communicate."

That seemed to lower Dean's spirits, rather than raising them. He nodded without a word, contemplated his teacup like it had bitten him, and a few minutes later he said he had to go.

He didn't drive straight back home. He went out of Lawrence, a good ten miles past Stull, and pulled the Impala to a halt on a deserted shoulder.

"Sam," he said softly, resting his hands on the steering wheel. "Sammy… I'm sorry. I – I don't know if you're mad at me. Missouri says you're not, but I guess she might be wrong. Not like you don't have reason to be mad, considering that your whole family decided to ignore your existence. I swear I had nothing to do with that, man. I never knew. I don't know _how _I could forget something like having a little brother, but…"

His hands clenched and unclenched.

"Sammy, Mom says I loved you. I don't remember it, but… I _feel _it. God, that sounds girly. I… just… I didn't need Missouri to tell me I didn't have to be afraid of you." He let out a long, slow breath. "I need you to know… You don't need to be afraid of me, either. I don't know if you've been holding off on talking to me because you think I'm going to go nuts and shoot you full of rock salt or something. If that's it… Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I won't let anyone else hurt you. I promise."

The drive back was quiet. I was thinking. I couldn't talk to Dean, but I was pretty sure I'd be able to get messages to him on his cell phone or laptop. I _had _been worried that Dean might freak out and shoot me, although that hadn't been the only thing. I was more worried about how I was going to answer his questions. I couldn't tell him the whole truth. Who knew what consequences _that _might have? If this was anything like time travel, a few misplaced words could turn the situation into an irretrievable tangled mess.

Since Dean had made an early start, it was only just lunchtime when we got home.

Lunch was an unpleasant meal. Dave had apparently called to say he wouldn't be home. He hadn't said why but it looked like Mom and Dad had both figured out that he was asking questions about things they wanted kept secret. The dining room was filled with plenty of glares and pointed looks and awkward silences. I'd known enough of them as a teenager not to be overly concerned by it.

After lunch, Dean went up to his room and called Dave. He put the phone to his ear first; then, with a glance in my direction (and how the _hell _did he unerringly know where I was standing even when he couldn't see me?), he pressed the button for the speakerphone and held it out.

The message was clear. Whether or not he remembered anything, whether or not it made any sense, whether or not Iwas ready to talk to him, _Dean _was ready to talk to _me_. He wasn't keeping any secrets.

Dave answered on the second ring.

"Dude. What's up?"

"I spoke to Missouri."

"And?"

"She confirmed that it's Sam. She doesn't know why he's come back _now_, but she says he'll tell us when he's ready. What'd you turn up?"

"Lots of stuff. Nothing useful. I spoke to a bunch of Dad's old friends – from when he had that garage, remember? They all remember Sam and they say he was a cute kid but that's pretty much it. There was just one thing – there was one guy who said he remembered Mom seemed a little worried and upset in the week leading up to the… accident."

"Doesn't help much."

"No, it doesn't. So I figured I'd go say hello to Gwen Campbell. I heard from Mark that she's in the area tracking a vampire. I figure she could use some help, anyway… You remember that nest we took out in Montana years ago?"

"Sure, how could I forget? That vampire chick was _hot_. Dude, do you remember what she called herself? Something vaguely creepy."

"Lenore, I think," Dave's voice said, and I felt a sudden pang of overwhelming regret. "Yeah, that's it. Lenore. You're right, she _was_ hot. Too bad she was an evil bitch." Here at last was evidence that I'd done _one _good thing in my life, but I couldn't feel happy about it. Lenore, I was sure, hadn't deserved to die. "Anyway," Dave continued, "a couple of vamps got away then, remember? Gwen's tracked one of them here – Eli, I think he calls himself. She could probably use a hand, and I'll see if I can get any information from here while I'm at it."

"Great, thanks, man."

"No problem."

Dean pressed the End Call button, dropped the phone and frowned. "Sammy? I'm sensing you're not happy. I told you, nobody's going to hurt you."

Somebody knocked. Dean got up to open the door, and I drifted closer to see who it was.

It was Mom. She looked hot and sweaty, like she'd been doing some heavy lifting, and she was holding a large cardboard carton that was overflowing with what could only be described as _junk_. There were knives that were probably too blunt to stab anything, bottles that would once have held holy water, a pair of roller skates, something that looked like a _watering can_ – and that was only what I could see poking out the top.

I couldn't get out of the way in time and Mom walked right through me. I felt the same awful tingle I did when Dean touched me, but there was something… different.

For just a second, I felt real and solid. I'd felt the warmth of the spring afternoon and the breeze that was stirring the curtains and hunger and thirst and exhaustion and –

Then it was gone, and I wondered if I'd imagined it.

One look at Dean's face was enough to convince me otherwise. He was staring at the spot where I was, pale and shaking.

"Mom, did you _see _that?"

"See what, sweetie?" Mom asked.

"See – _him_. Sammy! He appeared right in front of you and you walked straight through him."

"I didn't feel anything, Dean. Are you sure you're feeling OK, sweetie? I know you haven't been sleeping too well because of the nightmares."

"That's not _it_. I'm _fine_. I saw him. He was just _here_."

"All right, sweetie," Mom said soothingly. I could tell she didn't believe him. "Whatever you say."

"I'm not crazy and I'm not making it up. Sam was _here_."

"I'm not saying, no, Dean." She dumped her carton on his bed. "I got this out of the basement. I thought you might like to have a look."

"At random crap?" Dean asked, puzzled.

"_Dean._" She crossed her arms. "Look… I get that you're angry with us, and I understand. You have a right to be. But we have a war to fight, so you need to do whatever it takes to get it out of your system. This will help."

"What is it?"

"After Sam died, we got rid of most of his stuff. We probably should've done a salt-and-burn, but… well, I couldn't. And he was so young when he died, I didn't think there'd be any danger…" Mom broke off, blinking. "Anyway. We got rid of most of his stuff, but I kept a few pictures and things because I didn't really… I didn't want to wipe out _every_ sign that he'd ever lived. A few years later I moved a lot of junk to the basement, and I just realized… I probably put Sam's stuff there, too."

"With the rest of the junk," Dean said bitterly.

The look Mom gave him would've bored a hole in granite. "I didn't need _things_ to remember my baby boy, Dean," she said quietly… And I really couldn't find it in me to be angry with her. "There hasn't been a single day since he died – not _one _day, not one _hour_ – when I haven't thought of him." Dean looked suitably chastised, and she went on, "I'm not really sure which box I put it in, but it's probably this one. There wasn't much. Just some photographs and a couple of toys."

Dean nodded. "Thanks."

Mom paused in the doorway on her way out. "I know you think your father and I are being incredibly unfeeling about this. I'm not asking you to understand, but… Believe me when I tell you that I miss him – we _both _miss him – and we'd have done almost _anything _to have had him with us now."

Mom left, and Dean waved a hand at me.

"What do you say, Sammy? Want to look at some pictures?"

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	7. A Time to Mourn

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **One last exam to go and then I'm done! Yay! I'll probably get to review replies on Saturday or Sunday, and in the meantime here's the next chapter. ;-)

Thanks to Cheryl for all the help with this story.

Thanks to Katy M VT, Taeriel, Starfan 1245, XspriteyX, Nyx Ro, cold kagome, APRIL26, SandyDee84, casammy, samantha-dean, sarah, jayfeather63, BranchSuper, Sparkiebunny, TinTin11, SPN Mum, twomoms, Eavis, mselphabathropp109, teal-lover, Amy90, Hunnique, jensengirl4eva, Lilyoda, ja jestem kaczka and godsdaughter77 for the reviews! You guys are the best!

Now let's get back to tormenting those boys…

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><p><strong>Chapter VI: A Time to Mourn, and a Time to Dance<strong>

Dean didn't have to take too much junk out of the box before he found the photographs. I recognized a couple from the carton that woman – Jane? Jenny? Jean? – gave us after we got rid of the poltergeist for her. There were a lot more that I didn't recognize.

There were a few with just me, or of me with Mom or Dad, but most of them were of me and Dean. Dean was carrying me (pretty easily considering how small he was himself), holding me in his lap (and supporting my neck expertly – no wonder he was so good with that baby shifter), huddling under the blankets with me and laughing at whoever was holding the camera…

He was right. How could he have _forgotten_? It made no sense. He'd been less than three months shy of his fifth birthday the night Azazel came. That wasn't old enough for him to remember a lot, but it was old enough that he should've been able to remember the existence of another person – even a small one.

I didn't really think Mom and Dad would've tried to wipe his memory. That left –

I was damned if I knew. I was pretty sure there couldn't be a Great Wall of Dean; if six months had suddenly gone missing from Dean's memories, _someone_ would have noticed –

Would they?

How would anyone know? If an angel or demon _had _wanted to wipe Dean's memories of me… They couldn't have done it right away. It would have been way too suspicious. But a year or two later? Who would have known? It's not like you ever actually _think _about stuff that happened to you when you were four, and if you ever do… You're unlikely to be too concerned if you don't remember exactly.

It would have been too easy.

I needed answers, and I wasn't going to get them like this. This was all too much to be coincidence. There was something going on. Gabriel was after something, and I had to find out what.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean said, cutting into my thoughts.

"It's Sam," I said automatically. Dean didn't hear, and so he ignored it, which was what usually happened anyway.

"Look at this one."

Dean was holding up a picture I _hadn't _seen before. It was the two of us, probably on the day I was born. Dean was sitting in a big chair, ubiquitous hospital curtains behind him, holding a bundle in his arms. The baby's tiny fingers grasped Dean's not much bigger one, and that was all you could see of _me_. _Dean_, on the other hand, was looking down at his charge with an expression of… Well, words can't describe it. He looked thrilled and proud and protective and adoring and…

Dean grinned at me a little shakily.

"You see, Sammy? No way I'm ever going to hurt you. If you want to talk to me, now would be a good time."

And I realized something that, knowing Dean, I should probably have realized that morning. Missouri had told him I'd talk when I was ready, and Dean had looked _more_ instead of _less _unhappy, and had promptly followed it up by driving us out to the middle of nowhere so he could promise me that he wouldn't shoot me.

I should have guessed.

Dean was feeling hurt. Alternate dimension or not, Dean was still Dean: one part stubborn, one part annoying, and eight parts big brother. _My _big brother. It was what he _was_, and he had always been stupidly possessive of his job. And now he was feeling hurt because he thought I didn't trust him enough to talk to him.

This was stupid. I knew how to work Dean's cell phone pretty well by now, and I wasn't an idiot. I could let him know I was there without giving anything away.

I focused, and in a few seconds I had what I wanted. Dean's cell phone beeped.

He took it out. Just for the heck of it, I unlocked it before he could. The keypad lights flickered as I zapped the keys. Dean seemed more amused than scared.

"Nice. Now let's see if you can actually do something useful, little brother."

He opened the message. I leaned in, curious to see who would be listed as the sender. I was pretty sure 'Psychic Spirit' wasn't going to be one of the options.

I turned out to be right; it was the more normal (and, as Dean grumbled, _boring_) 'Private Number'.

_Hello, Dean._

I know, I know… Lame. But what else could I have done? Dean didn't remember anything about me; if I'd started straight out with "Hey jerk" he would probably have decided we were both insane.

"Is that you, Sam?" Dean asked.

The phone beeped again. Dean opened the new message.

_Yes._

"Dude, there _has _to be an easier way to conduct a conversation than this. The message alert is _annoying_."

I flicked the phone to silent before I sent him the next message. He rolled his eyes, muttered, "Show-off," and opened it.

_We could try the laptop._

The laptop was a lot easier. With a few minutes' practise I got the hang of it enough that I didn't actually need to be looking at it, so I could walk around while Dean hunched over his laptop.

_Dude. You'll get arthritis. Sit up straight._

"Health advice from a _ghost_?" Dean grumbled, but he sat up nonetheless. "My life is weird." Then he cast a brief, apologetic glance in my direction, as though afraid he'd offended me.

_Seriously? _I typed. _This__ is the weird thing about your life?_

"Certainly weirder than anything else I've ever done. You're not supposed to be all grown up. What happened, Sam? What's going on?"

There it was. The question I couldn't answer.

I hesitated, wondering what to say. Evidently I waited too long, because Dean spoke again. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you – I mean, you barely know me. Why would you trust me?"

That hurt tone absolutely did _not _belong in my big brother's voice.

_Of course I trust you. There's just a lot I can't say right now… Not until I know how much __you__ know._

"_Back to the Future _kind of thing?"

_You could say so, yeah._

"OK… So what do you need to know?"

_Tell me everything you know about the Apocalypse._

I'd thought and _thought_ about it, and I'd come to the conclusion that _that _was what Gabriel was after. Not necessarily the Apocalypse itself, but something related to it. I was sure of it. And the only way to sort this out was to figure out exactly how the end of the world was playing out in _this _dimension – and which unfortunate idiot was going to have to take my place.

Because there was one thing I _did _know – if the Cage was open, then getting myself out of being Lucifer's vessel couldn't possibly solve everything. It would just shift the burden from my shoulders to somebody else's.

The story was concise. Azazel had gone around collecting his special children – minus Sam Winchester, although Dean didn't know that – and the hunting community had grown suspicious. They'd gone to Cold Oak in time to see Jake and Azazel make their getaway and had then tracked them to the Devil's Gate. Jake had opened it, and in the resulting firefight Dean had fallen through just before it had closed. He'd broken – he confessed that guiltily – and with him had broken the first seal. Shortly thereafter, an angel called Castiel had pulled him up.

I held my tongue. Maybe in _this_ place Castiel wasn't –

Getting from one to sixty-six had apparently taken a lot longer in this world. Two and a half years, give or take; Bobby and Mom and Dad had chased down the seals, trying to prevent them from breaking. They had been misled and played by both sides, and they hadn't been able to stop anything. Meanwhile, Dean and David had been searching for Lilith – they'd believed, like I'd done, that killing her would stop it. Dean had been looking into demonic activity in Minnesota and Dave had been in Wyoming when Bobby had called with a confirmed sighting of Lilith in Maryland.

They went there and –

Dean's voice broke with self-condemnation. I knew the feeling… And _Dean _should never be feeling that. The _one _thing I'd been grateful for when it'd happened had been that I'd been the one to kill Lilith and not Dean; _I_ had a lifetime's experience of dealing with guilt.

_It wasn't your fault_, I typed. _You didn't know._

That was not an excuse I'd made for myself – because I _should_ have known. Dean, for all his bravado and muttering about how I was a little girl, had always been the more trusting of us. I was willing to believe that most people had good intentions, but there had only ever been one person in the world whom I truly, fully and completely trusted – and I'd _still _let myself get played.

Dean, on the other hand… He'd always been ultra-suspicious when it came to _my_ safety, but other than that, he trusted easily.

And Dean didn't deal with guilt well.

"Maybe," he said. "Anyway… Lucifer got out. And since then we've been looking for a way to stop him. The angels keep saying there needs to be a showdown – I'm supposed to be Michael's vessel and Dave is supposed to be Lucifer's. We've been saying no – apparently they need our consent – but, God, Sammy, we can't keep it up forever. We're going to break eventually."

I stayed quiet. What was I going to say? That Dave had to say yes and then walk Lucifer into his Cage? I could see _that _going down well.

Besides… It was still my responsibility. I didn't believe in Destiny any more than Dean _did_, but I _knew _that if there was anyone who should've had to sacrifice himself for the world to have peace, it wasn't Dave. From the look of it, _Dave_ hadn't left a trail of death and devastation behind him whenever he'd dared to get close to someone. He'd just been… unlucky.

I reminded myself that this wasn't _real_, that it was another of Gabriel's games. The rules were always the same: we had to survive. And since Dean remembered nothing, it was _my _job to get us both out in one piece.

"So… Sammy?" Dean asked, cutting into my thoughts. "Do you know how we can stop this?"

I hesitated. Not telling Dean was one thing. I wasn't going to lie to him. Not about this, not anymore. _Maybe_, I typed at last. _I need some time to think about it._

Dean's next question was even harder to answer. "Do you remember me at all, Sam?"

I _didn't_ remember the Dean from _this _dimension. How the hell could I? I'd died at six months. And I _still _didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to hurt Dean, either. I'd done enough of that in _our _world.

_Yeah_, I said at last. It was the truth… Sort of. I did remember Dean. Just not _this _Dean.

"Was I a good brother?"

That one was easy. _Best big brother ever._

"Oh… thanks." He paused. "Sammy, I don't get it. I don't remember you – and, fine, I should, but even then – I was four when you died. I don't get how I feel like… _this_."

_Like what?_

"Like… You know what? Never mind." Dean ducked his head. "It's stupid. I'm stupid. I'm like some hormonal emo teenage _girl_."

I couldn't resist. _Awww… Did Deanie forget his Midol?_

"Shut up!" Dean said, but he was laughing.

"Dude, what's so funny? And who are you talking to?"

I hadn't heard Dave come in.

For a second – _just _for a second – I expected that Dean would tell Dave I was around and able to communicate. He'd never been one to hold in his excitement, and I'd lost count of how many times I'd stepped into a motel room to have Dean announce with almost childlike glee that _Godzilla _was on TV or he'd got the cute bartender's number or some random stranger had complimented the Impala.

Dean blushed and shut the laptop.

"Nothing, man. I was just chatting with Carmen."

_What the hell? _Was Dean _ashamed _of talking to me? Or was he just doing it out of some wrongheaded sense of _obligation_?

"Yeah?" Dave's eyes glinted; he'd noticed nothing unusual about Dean's demeanour. "You planning to meet up with her sometime soon? You could always take a day off, you know… _Recharge._"

"Maybe later." Dean grinned at him. "So what'd you turn up? And why aren't you with Gwen?"

"She almost bit my head off when I offered to help her. Thought I was insulting her hunting ability. Anyway, she _did _talk."

"What'd she say?"

"You know that accident when Mom's parents were killed?"

"Yeah – that was before even _I _was born."

"Yup. 1973. Anyway, Gwen says it wasn't exactly an accident. She wouldn't tell me any details – but from what she's heard, whatever happened, Dad was in it, too."

"How does she know?"

"She wouldn't say. Maybe Christian told her. He seems to know everything."

"Maybe," Dean agreed. "So…?"

"_So_, Gwen says a lot of them – a lot of the _Campbells_ – suspect that Dad died and Mom made a deal to bring him back."

"Mom made a – _no_." Dean looked aghast. "You think Mom gave _Sammy _up for Dad? No way. She – she would _never _have done that. She _couldn't _have. She wouldn't have given up her own _son_."

"That's what I said, but then Gwen told me the date of the accident. November 2, 1973. It _can't _be a coincidence, Dean."

_This _was exactly the kind of pain I'd hoped to _avoid_ giving Dean. He was sitting up straight, staring at Dave with a mixture of shock and horror.

I was cursed. That was the only way to explain it. That was the only way to explain why my brother, who'd been living a perfectly normal and happy life – or as close to it as he could get – for years was suddenly having the rug yanked out from under him just because I showed up. I was cursed, everyone around me was doomed, and I needed to find a way to get away from Dean before I ruined his life. Again.

I shook myself. This was _not _the time for self-pity. I'd managed to get by three years without moping over the fact that Mom practically _gave_ me to Azazel, and I wasn't going to start now.

"We need to talk to Mom," Dave was saying. "Maybe – maybe it was a trick. There _has _to be an explanation, Dean."

"Yeah…" Dean said. "Yeah… We should talk to Mom."

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><p>So that's the how and why of the Apocalypse.<p>

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	8. A Time to Cast Away Stones

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **So… exams done! And many thanks to everyone who sent me good wishes.

My usual acknowledgements: Cheryl, for everything, and Katy M VT, cold kagome, SPN Mum, XspriteyX, SkeksisGirl, godsdaughter77, Nyx Ro, jayfeather63, cookjar, BranchSuper, TinTin11, sarah, Don'tCallMeSammy, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, SandyDee84, APRIL26, Scribble2Much, teal-lover, ja jestem kaczka, Ellie Jane Farrell, Sparkiebunny, jensengirl4eva, IritIlan, Lilyoda, adeusparaiso and Starfan1245 for the reviews.

Also… a friend and I have started an LJ comm to post SPN-related nonfiction stuff. Some serious, some just for fun or to let off steam. (We're both Sammy girls, but we both love Dean, too.) Come check us out if you're in the mood – collegeboy (underscore) spn (dot) livejournal (dot) com. I'll probably add the link to my profile soon.

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><p><strong>Chapter VII: A Time to Cast Away Stones, and a Time to Gather Stones Together<strong>

Dad was out again. Mom just looked from Dean to Dave and shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" Dean said. "You're telling me it's _coincidence _that Dad almost died but had a miraculous escape – and then, exactly ten years later, the demon came for Sam?"

"Sometimes coincidences happen, Dean."

"Not to us." Dean glared at her. "Come _on_. You owe us the truth. And if you don't tell us, we're just going to keep asking until we find someone who will."

Mom sighed. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"What happened that night? Did you trade Sammy for Dad? And does Dad know?"

"No… Your father doesn't know. I'd like it to stay that way… It was my decision and there's no reason for him to start feeling guilty about it."

Dean swallowed. "So… You really did give Sam to Azazel."

"It wasn't quite like that, Dean." Mom shifted in her seat on the couch. "Look… My parents were dead and Azazel had just killed your father. I'd lost the three people I loved most in the world, all in one day. I was desperate."

That shouldn't have hurt – it was nothing I didn't know already – but it did.

"So you gave your son to a demon," Dean said.

"It wasn't _like _that. For one thing, Sam hadn't been born."

"Damn right he hadn't. If he'd been born _then_, he would've been ten when he died, as opposed to just six months old."

"Dean," Dave interjected. "Let her finish."

Dean subsided. Mom, with a grateful glance at Dave, went on.

"Azazel told me he'd come and he – he wanted to meet my son. He said that was it, there was a ritual, and as long as I didn't try to stop him, nobody would get hurt."

"And you _believed _him? He's a demon!"

"Dean, I'm sorry. I truly am. But… I _did _believe him. Your father was dead. I didn't know what to do – I didn't know how else I could save him."

"How – why _Sammy_?" Dean asked, voice hitching. "If you were that desperate, you could've given _me _to him. What did Sammy do to deserve – he was _six _months old. Six _months_! He didn't even have a chance to learn to talk!"

"Azazel wanted to meet Sam. I don't know why, Dean."

"You – and you _kept _this from us? Why? Did you – did you not _want _Sam or something?"

"Dean, God, no!" Mom said, distraught. "That wasn't it at _all_. I loved Sam – and I'm _so _sorry about… about everything. If I could change what I did, if I could make a deal for my life instead of his, if I had _any _way of bringing him back… I've looked into it, believe me. After Sam died I tried _everything _I could think of. I summoned Azazel and asked him to take me instead of Sam – and he just laughed at me."

"And you didn't even tell _Dad_?"

"How could I? He wouldn't have forgiven me _or _forgiven himself."

"What about Sam? Doesn't he deserve justice? Or at least the _truth_?"

"Sam's gone, Dean. He's gone – and he isn't coming back. You can be mad at me if you want, but you have to accept facts. You can't help your brother."

"Like hell I can't."

Then I was traipsing upstairs after Dean again. It was starting to wear me out – I hadn't been able to get any kind of rest since this mess had started. I'd thought I knew all about insomnia before, but waking up screaming from nightmares of hellfire? That was _nothing_. Compared to this, that was a full night's rest. I hadn't even snatched a five-minute catnap –

There I went, whining again. This wasn't about me. It was about sorting this mess out as soon as possible.

Dean slammed the door shut, waiting until I was in the room first. (Later, I asked him how he'd known. He just shrugged and flushed and muttered something about his big brother radar.)

"I'm sorry," he said as soon as the door was shut. "Sammy, I'm so sorry. I never thought… You must hate us all now. God, you were just six months old!"

"Dean," I said, "it's OK."

Of course he didn't hear me. He paced up and down the room like a caged tiger, running his hands through his hair, slamming his fist into the wall –

I made his laptop beep.

He stopped short, looked at it, and then at me. "You want to say something, huh, kiddo?" He opened the laptop, the one thing that I _couldn't_ do to it. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. I'd want to let off steam, too, if I'd just found out… Here you go."

I let loose. And the _good _thing about using the laptop to communicate was that Dean couldn't interrupt. He tried a couple of times, but I ignored him and went on typing.

_Dean. First of all, it wasn't your fault, so you need to stop feeling guilty about it. It was NOT your fault. You were a kid yourself. Azazel is one of the most powerful demons ever and considering who he had backing him… There was nothing you could have done, Dean? Got that? Nothing, except get killed yourself, and, believe me, I wouldn't have wanted that. _

"But, Sam –"

_But nothing. It's probably better this way anyway._

"Sam, don't you _dare_."

_I'm sorry. That's not the point. Just calm down, OK? It's not ideal, but it's what we've got, and now we just have to deal with it._

"How'd _you _get so smart?"

I snickered. Before I could respond, the door opened again and Dave came in. He cocked an eyebrow at Dean. "Still talking to Carmen?"

"Yup," Dean said at once, pulling the laptop shut. "Still Carmen. What's up?"

"Mom's worried about you, man. So am I. You're taking this way too hard."

"I don't think it's possible to take this _too hard_. He was our brother and he's gone. Don't you care?"

"Of course I care. But, Dean, it was years ago, man. You said yourself that you don't remember him. It's upsetting, yeah, but you're more than just upset. You look like you're about to start crying like a girl any minute. It isn't like you to get like _this _over a kid who died almost thirty years ago, even if he _was _our brother."

"You didn't know him," Dean mumbled.

"For all practical purposes, neither did you. You were a _child_."

"Mom gave me pictures."

Dean held them out. Dave took them and went through them, smiling over one or two. "I guess you really _did _love him," he said.

"You _see_?"

"No, Dean. I don't see. You were four. You don't even remember it. What is _up_ with you?"

"I keep dreaming about him. He's – I don't know. I just feel like it was my job… And I let him down."

"Dean…" Dave hesitated. "Maybe Mom and Dad are right. Maybe this is something Michael is doing to try to break you."

"It's _not_."

"You can't know that for sure."

"I can and I do. And I'm going to do whatever it takes to find out what's going on and kill the son of a bitch who did this to him. With or without your help."

"Dean, calm down. I'm not saying I won't help you." He sighed. "Look, why don't you just go out? You've been sitting around indoors all day. Go, take the Impala, get out of the city and get some fresh air… You'll feel better. We'll talk when you're back."

Dave left. I'd backed as far away as I could without actually leaving the room, wanting to give them some privacy. Of course, neither of them could see me… But still.

And, really, I was debating leaving Dean alone for a while. I couldn't get too far from him, but I'd probably be OK if I didn't actually leave the house. I'd been avoiding it because I didn't want to set off an EMF somewhere without Dean around to get me out of trouble –

There it was. That was our problem, and it always had been. No matter what I said about being an adult, no matter how many inches and how many pounds I had on Dean, no matter which reality we inhabited, I always assumed that Dean would do all he could to get me out of any trouble I managed to get myself in. And Dean just kept proving me right.

It wasn't fair to him. He shouldn't have to worry about my wellbeing _here_.

Then I heard, "_Sammy. _Are you listening?"

I turned. Dean was looking at me; from the expression on his face and the fact that the laptop was open, he'd been waiting for a response for some time.

_Sorry_, I typed. _Wasn't listening._

"Obviously not. Do you feel like going out?"

_Sure. _I paused, wondering how to phrase what I wanted to say next. Then I decided that it was best just to say it. It would make him mad, or it wouldn't. One way or another, the semantics wouldn't matter. _I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to… I'll go, just as soon as I can figure out a way. You don't have to worry about me, I promise._

"Hey, hold on a second. _Go? _Who said anything about you _going_?"

_Dean, come on. You don't need me around._

"Why would you say that?" Dean sounded calm, but it was a deceptive calm. I was in trouble.

_You were perfectly happy before I came along._

"You think? You have an odd definition of 'happy', kid. I'm a hunter."

_As happy as a hunter can get, then._

"Sam, don't be stupid. I don't want you to go anywhere. It's nice having someone other than myself to talk to."

I had to ask. _If you really do want me around… Why'd you lie?_

"Dude, what are you talking about?"

_To Dave. You said you were talking to Carmen. And, by the way, who's Carmen?_

"Carmen is none of your business, little brother. That's really what's got you all upset? That I didn't tell Dave you finally decided to break your silence?" I waited. Dean flushed scarlet, fiddling with a button on his jacket. "You're really going to make me say this, aren't you?" He looked around. "I guess you're entitled, but do you mind coming a bit closer? You're too far away for me to tell where you are and I don't like baring my soul to empty air."

_You can tell where I am_? I asked, moving closer to Dean's chair.

"Sort of. I can't see you or anything, but if you're within a few feet then I can tell where you are."

_Huh. _Apparently I wasn't the only psychic in the family. (Dean refuses to be classed with "Sammy, Missouri and Haley Joel" and insists that it had nothing to do with psychic powers. I swear, if I hear about the 'big brother radar' _one_ more time, I'm going to make him eat his leather jacket.)

"What?"

_Nothing._

"If you say so… OK, Sam, the thing is… You showed up in _my _dreams, you know? And you came to me, and you hung around with me and you spoke to me…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I just… I don't want to share, OK?"

_You… what?_

"You're _my _little brother," Dean repeated. "I don't want to share. Not even with David or Mom or Dad. If you… I don't know. Nobody's ever told me I was the best big brother ever. And _I've _sure never felt like I was. I'm not… Oh, _God_, this sucks. It's just that I don't want you to… If you start talking to other people… And maybe start thinking I'm not… You know… I'm not who you want to… to spend time with…"

This was _definitely _not the Dean I knew.

"Damn it!" Dean burst out. "You're turning me into a freaking _girl_! Could I _possibly _sound more like a preteen at a slumber party?"

_Dean?_

"What?"

_You're my brother and I love you more than anything in the world. Now can we please go outside?_

Dean laughed. "C'mon, then, kiddo. Let's go."

He got up, stretched, and moved towards the door.

I firmly blame Gabriel for what happened next. He insists that he had nothing to do with it, but it was too neat to be coincidence.

Dean, catching his foot on a fold of the carpet, stumbled and tripped. He fell forward, flailed for something to break his fall, and his fingers snagged the rim of the carton Mom had brought up. He fell, it fell, and there was a mess on the floor.

"Dean!" I exclaimed pointlessly to the air. He groaned. "Dean, are you OK?"

He pushed himself up and glanced in my direction. "I'm _fine_, Sam, nothing bruised but my pride. Let's go. We can clean this mess up when I get back." He reached the door, turned, and crossed his arms impatiently. "Come _on_, Sam. I'm _fine_."

I went towards him –

Again, just for a moment, I felt the warmth and solidity and _life _that was denied to me in this reality. The day was getting hotter, I was more exhausted than _ever_ –

It was gone.

I looked at Dean, and found him watching me wide-eyed.

"I saw you," he said. "I _know _I didn't imagine it this time. I saw _you_. You're – it must be something in the carton! Mom said there was some other stuff of yours, right? Toys. Maybe if you touch something that was _yours_, I can see you."

Dean fell to his knees on the floor, diving right through me in his haste. He looked around, snatched up a large teddy bear, and threw it in my general direction.

It sailed right through me.

"Crap," Dean said.

He tried again, this time with a rubber duck. Same result. Then came a teething ring – Seriously? Mom kept a _teething ring_? – and a rattle and a bootie that had once been blue.

Nothing.

"Must've been something else, then," Dean muttered, looking at the stuff scattered on the floor. "If I can remember exactly _where_ you were standing when I saw you – you must've stepped on it, or through it or whatever." He shuffled forwards on his knees. "I think it was _here_… Hey, Sam, there's some kind of weird-ass charm or something. You think this might be it?"

Weird-ass _charm_?

It _couldn't _be.

I leaned in closer and looked.

It _was_.

Dean was pointing at – but carefully not touching – the amulet.

_The _amulet. The one I gave him for Christmas, the one that was supposed to burn in the presence of God, the one he threw away when he lost faith in me – in _us_.

I knelt and reached for it. When my hand passed through it I felt solid again – but I couldn't pick it up.

"There has to be another way," Dean said. He picked up the leather cord holding the amulet, pausing briefly before running his thumb on the brass surface.

Then he gasped, eyes going wide with horror. "Oh, God, _Sam_."

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><p>What do you think? Good? Bad? Please review!<p> 


	9. A Time to Embrace

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note:** I planned to have this up yesterday, but apparently you don't get to go three weeks on a sum total of seventy hours' sleep without suffering _some _consequences. But it's here now. Which is the important thing, right? ;-)

Thanks to Eavis, Ellie Jane Farrell, SkeksisGirl, jafreckleslover, jolynn3277, Starfan1245, cold kagome, Katy M VT, sarah, Kathryn Marie Black, XspriteyX, AlwaysTardy, Sparkiebunny, jayfeather63, twomoms, Kailene, cookjar, SPN Mum, TinTin11, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, confizzled, godsdaughter77, Twinchester Angel, SandyDee84, teal-lover, anonymous, Scribble2Much, naran2786, BonanzaRocks, Aoi-Moku, IritIlan, APRIL26, OutTonightAndForever, MysteryMadchen, Lilyoda, BranchSuper, anonymous and Smoochynose for the reviews. (Wow! Don't think I've ever had this many reviews for one chapter before! You guys are the best!)

And many thanks, as always, to Cheryl, for being the voice of reason and sanity.

And now… I believe we were about to have a chick-flick moment.

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><p><strong>Chapter VIII: A Time to Embrace, and a Time to Refrain from Embracing<strong>

"_Sam…_"

Dean was kneeling, hunched over himself, arms wrapped around his stomach like he was going to be sick.

"Dean?"

Dean didn't respond. He only made a high, anguished, keening noise that tore at my heart. _God_, for Dean to make a sound like that, he had to be in some serious pain. But he'd been fine a moment ago… What the hell was going on? Had the amulet done something to him? Was there a curse on it in this world?

"_Dean_," I repeated, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean hunched lower. The top of his head brushed my ribs. I was starting to freak out: I couldn't see any blood or bruises, and he didn't seem to be running a fever. What was _wrong _with him?

"_Sammy_," Dean mumbled, fingers fisting in my jacket –

I realized he was touching me. _Actually _touching me. And I was touching him.

Dean's hands twisted tighter, the amulet slipped from his fingers, and abruptly the contact was gone.

"_No_," Dean said frantically. "No, I saw you. You were just _here_. Sam! Sammy, you – you come back here right the hell _now_. Sammy! Sam! Sam, you listen to me. You –" He stopped short, suddenly realizing that he'd dropped the amulet. He picked it up again –

And his hands found their way back to my jacket. After they'd put the amulet around his neck.

"Dean?" I couldn't keep a tremor from the word.

"It was a dream, right?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "Tell me it was a dream. Please, please, _please _tell me it was a dream."

"What are you talking about?" In response, Dean pushed my jacket off and laid his hand flat on my chest. "Dean?" I prodded. "Ummm… Dude, why are you groping me?"

"I can't feel it." He sounded forlorn. "I can't feel it. _I can't feel it. _This can't be – _promise _me it's a dream, Sam!" He grabbed my shirt and shook. "_Promise me!_"

"Dean?"

"I just got you back," he said tearfully. "I just got you _back_, Sammy. Please tell me this is a dream."

_Then _I realized what had happened. The amulet had restored Dean's memories of _our _world, but not taken away his memories of _this_ world. He'd panicked, felt for a heartbeat and not found it, and now he was freaking out.

"Dean, it's not a dream, but –"

"No," Dean choked. "No. No, no, _no_. Sammy, you can't – I can't –"

Dean was starting to hyperventilate. I cursed my stupid choice of words. "Dean, calm _down_. It's OK. It's not permanent. OK? It's not a dream, but it's not permanent."

It didn't calm him. "But – you're a ghost. And I – _Sammy_ –"

"_Dean._" Enough was enough. We were going to have a chick-flick moment before my brother worked himself into a seizure, and if he didn't like it he was going to have to suck it up.

I pulled him close. Dean fought it – he was _determined _to be miserable – but, no matter what he says to the contrary, he is _not _stronger than I am. I pushed his head onto my shoulder – nothing to hear there; no lack of a heartbeat to freak him out – and waited for his breathing to calm down.

"Sam," he mumbled at last. "What's going on? Are you really…"

"In this world, yeah. But this isn't our world, dude. It's one of Gabriel's games."

"What?" Dean demanded, backing away to stare at me in shock. "But why… He never does anything without a reason. What point is he trying to prove _this _time?"

Ah. This was going to be the hard part. "He wants to make this permanent," I said. "That is – he wants to arrange it so I die instead of Mom. But he needs my permission to do that, apparently, and this is by way of… encouragement." I shrugged, trying to keep my voice light. "You know, so I can see how much I'll be… helping… everyone else by letting Gabriel make the trade."

While I'd been speaking, Dean's expression had gone from disbelief to outrage to pure fury.

"_How _is he still alive?"

"I don't know. I think God brought him back. He was saying something about his daddy –"

"Well, his daddy can –"

"_Dean._"

Dean glared at me. "Son of a _bitch_. No wonder he wiped my memory when he shoved us here. He must've known I would kill him."

"Dean –"

"As soon as we're back in our world, I'm going to get hold of every angel-killing sword that still exists and then I'm going to track him down and stab him with all of them. You know, just in case _one _isn't enough to do it." He looked at me. "And we _are _getting home, aren't we, Sam? You're not thinking of letting the son of a bitch have his way, are you?"

"Dean –"

"Sam, right now if you say anything other than, 'Yes, Dean, I'm not an idiot and I won't say yes to Gabriel,' I'm going to kill you."

"I'm already dead," I felt compelled to point out. The look Dean gave me would have melted glass. "I'm sorry. That wasn't funny."

"No. It wasn't. Dude, do you have any _idea_ – I touched the damn thing and I remembered everything and you were freaking _dead_. I thought – I thought I'd lost you. Destiny's done with us now, Sammy. If I lose you, I don't get you back. And you're making _jokes _about it."

I flushed. Dean was right. I knew, better than anyone, how traumatic it could be. "I'm sorry, Dean. It was stupid."

"Damn right it was. I was freaked out and you thought it was time to be smart."

"I'm sorry. Didn't you want to go out?"

"Dude, you look like crap. I don't think you should be going _anywhere_. How about we stay here and you get some rest?"

That was too much. I'd tried to hold it together; I'd _tried _to be strong, but _that_ – it was just too much. I was tired beyond belief. It had just been proven to me that my existence had made Dean's life miserable in _every _way possible. I didn't know what Gabriel was planning but I was sure it wouldn't be good.

I couldn't keep up even the pretence of self-restraint.

"I _can't_," I said. (And, _no_, Dean, I did _not _wail.) "I've tried and I've _tried _but I just can't. I can't _sleep _and I can't – it doesn't –"

"Whoa… Sammy, calm down."

"It never works," I went on, knowing I sounded like a hysterical child and long past caring. "I thought – if I hadn't been around, if it'd been me instead of Mom – I mean, I never said anything because I knew you'd jump on me if I did –"

"Damn right I would."

"But I _thought_ – and can you blame me? Mom wouldn't have died and Dad wouldn't have died. Just like here. And everything was fine – other than the Apocalypse, I mean, but I guess the angels were going to have their fun anyway. You were _happy_ and you had Mom and Dad and the little brother you always wanted and – and then _I _came along and it all got screwed up again. I didn't mean to but I always do! And I thought if I'd died instead of Mom it'd be better for you, and it _was_, but then I messed it up and maybe if I'd just never been born –"

"Sam, shut up."

I blinked. At some point – I had no idea _when_ – Dean had shoved me back. His shoulder was under my cheek and his arm was supporting my spine.

"I get that you can't sleep," Dean went on, "but you can _rest_, right? Relax and stop worrying for _one _damned minute?"

"But –"

"_I'm here._" Dean rubbed my back. "And I know this sucks, but we're going to figure this out. Just relax and breathe."

"I _can't _breathe," I mumbled miserably.

"OK… Let's try it another way."

Dean grabbed my hand and laid it on his chest, breathing slowly, evenly and deeply. It was stupid – and girly – and it made no sense – but, _somehow_, feeling the rise and fall of his chest calmed me down. I'd been through hell in the past few days, and now I had my big brother back.

"OK now, kiddo?"

"Yeah… Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just relax. I'm here. We're going to take care of this."

Dean was just _awesome_. That was the only possible explanation. That was the only way I could've gone from a full-blown panic attack to complete calm in just a couple of minutes.

"_How touching._"

I groaned and pushed away from Dean. Letting my brother comfort me in private was one thing; I was damned if I was going to be caught snuggling in front of _Gabriel_.

"What the hell?" I asked, scowling at him. "What do you want _now_?"

"I came to check on you." Gabriel grimaced. "I certainly wasn't expecting to interrupt a love-fest. So – seen enough yet, Sam? Satisfied that it _is _better for everyone you know if you agree to make a quiet exit before Azazel can… infect you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up. I _just _got him calmed down. What do you want?" He paused. "Nice vessel, by the way. New?"

Gabriel smirked. "A very devout banker. It works for me. Inconspicuous. Unlike you and your overgrown brother."

"The answer's still no," I said. Dean looked at me sharply, Gabriel's smirk widened – and I had to admit my voice didn't sound nearly as confident in my own ears as it had the first time I'd told Gabriel that.

"But you're thinking about it, aren't you, Sammy?"

"Don't call me Sammy."

"Dean, may I call him Sammy?"

"No," Dean said. "What do you want and what do we have to do to make this end?"

"Get Sammy to say yes, Dean. That's all you have to do. You get the good life with your parents and the little brother you've always wanted, Sam gets Heaven, and everyone's happy."

"No. Sam's not saying yes to you."

"Isn't that his decision?"

"Yeah, and I'm making it for him."

"Being a little selfish, aren't you, Dean? You think you want precious little Sammy around, and so you're going to force him to subject himself to the demon blood and the visions and the hunting life and Michael and Lucifer, when he could so easily have himself sent straight up to Heaven before any of it happens."

"I _know_ I want Sammy around, and you can get out of here before I make you eat your own wings."

Gabriel turned to me and started to tell me about all the wonderful things Dean could have if I weren't around. I wasn't listening to him or to Dean's protests.

I'd just realized something.

This was _wrong_. This whole thing was all wrong. It had been right there – right in _front _of me – all along, and, being the idiot I was, I'd totally missed it.

Gabriel, for all the help he'd given us with Lucifer, was an angel, and I was under no illusions that he'd try to make our lives better out of pure kindness. At some subconscious level I'd known that this was about the Apocalypse, but it was only now that it struck me that –

"Who is it?" I asked Gabriel, interrupting his detailed description of Dean's senior prom.

"Who is _what_?"

"Someone's holding a gun to your head. You don't play games without a reason. And this game? It's the Apocalypse, isn't it? You want to bring back the Apocalypse and for some reason you think getting me out of the way will do that."

"I _know _getting you out of the way will do that –"

"But that doesn't make any sense. You didn't want the Apocalypse any more than we did."

"Maybe I changed my mind."

"Even so. You said it yourself – you follow the rules. And one of the rules for Tricksters is that if someone beats you then it's _over_. You don't get to keep calling them back for do-overs until you win. Someone's forcing you to do this. _Who?_"

"You forget yourself, Sammy. I am the Archangel Gabriel. Do you really think someone could be forcing me to do something against my will?"

"I'm pretty sure someone is. There are things more powerful than Archangels. _Who is it?_ It can't be Raphael. He can't be strong enough to force _you_ to do his dirty work. And Death gave Dean his ring willingly."

Gabriel's eyes glinted. "Very clever, Sam. Keep at it. I'm sure you'll work it out. But I didn't come here to listen to your conspiracy theories. I came to see if you're finally going to be sensible, and since it appears that you're not… I have things to do."

A flutter of wings and Gabriel was gone.

Dean turned to me. "Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know. It can't be one of the angels – you remember how Gabriel threw Cas around? He's too strong for that. And if it isn't Death… I don't know who it could be."

"Right. Well, you were right about one thing, Sammy – I know you're tired, but we need to go out. We need to figure this out somewhere we won't be interrupted. I was expecting Dave or Mom to walk in any minute when Gabriel was here – and _that _would've been a bitch to explain."

"Yeah," I said wearily. "What if someone sees me?"

"I don't think anyone else is going to be able to see you, Sam. I'm wearing the amulet."

That led to an awkward pause. I could tell Dean was looking for words to explain why he'd done it – or maybe to apologize – but I really didn't want to hear it. There was enough to deal with in _this _world. The residual issues from _our _reality could wait until we were home.

I waved my hand through one of the roller skates on the floor, nodded when it passed right through.

"I guess you're right. I'm still a spirit. Let's go."

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	10. A Time to Get

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Alas.

To Cheryl, thanks always, for listening and reading.

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, Eavis, XspriteyX, Kittle, Ellie Jane Farrell, OutTonightAndForever, jayfeather63, godsdaughter77, APRIL26, cookjar, nikiluvsdean, cold kagome, Lilithakaducky, BranchSuper, Twinchester Angel, Nyx Ro, sarah, Sparkiebunny, jafreckleslover, SPN Mum, TinTin11, SandyDee84, Starfan1245, MysteryMadchen, jensengirl4eva, casammy, PutMoneyInThyPurse, IritIlan, Yami Faerie and naran2786.

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><p><strong>Chapter IX: A Time to Get, and a Time to Lose<strong>

I love Dean more than anything. I really do. He's my big brother and he's awesome and there are times when I love him so much I feel like my heart is going to burst from it.

And then… There are other times.

Like that drive.

Gabriel's visit seemed to have done something to Dean. He was sullen, the silence now more tension than peace. As soon as we were in the car he ordered me to rest, but then he turned the music up loudly enough that I was pretty sure there were people all the way in California who could hear it.

"_Dean_," I protested, fumbling at the wiring and lowering the volume without thinking too much about it.

"Dude, do you have to do that?" Dean hissed. "This is bad enough without you using that freaky spirit mojo on stuff."

"Sorry," I muttered, sensing the first signs of Dean throwing a tantrum.

This wasn't going to be a fun drive.

"_How_, Sam?" Dean demanded, glaring at the road like it had done him an injury. "How does something like this happen _every single time_? And when did Gabriel do this?"

I sighed. "When we argued and I went out to get some fresh air – that was when he offered me the deal. I said no. He came back when you were asleep."

"And you didn't think of _waking _me?"

"Dean, I had no idea what he was going to do. Even if I _had _woken you, there was nothing you could've done to stop him."

"Yeah, but still – why the hell do you always have to try to deal with everything on your own?"

"I didn't see the point of telling you until I knew what I was dealing _with_."

"Yeah?" Dean demanded, shooting me a sideways glance. "That so? Then why didn't you tell me about Gabriel's offer in the first place? I seem to remember spending that entire evening with you. You couldn't take two minutes to say, 'Dean, by the way, Gabriel tried to talk me into doing something stupid today.'?"

I paused. Why _hadn't _I told Dean about that?

"I didn't really think much of it," I said honestly. "He asked, I said no."

"And you thought that would be the end of it? Come _on_, Sam. I _know _you're not that stupid."

"I don't know, Dean!" I said. I was getting defensive, and that was just annoying me more. There was no need to be defensive. I wasn't a baby. "I just thought there was no point telling you anything until I knew what was going on. And it's not like you could've done anything about it! Gabriel was going to shove us here with or without your permission!"

"You know what? _Screw _you, Sam. This is the problem with you – always thinking Sam Winchester knows best."

"That's just stupid. You seriously expect me to report every single thing to you?"

"Why not? Dave does. Worries me a lot less than you do."

That stopped me short. Of all the things I'd been expecting – and given that when we argue Dean and I _both _tend to say more than we mean, I'd been expecting a lot – I'd never thought I'd hear _that_. It was a second before I could even think about coming up with a retort, and by the time I did… I didn't really feel like going on with the argument.

"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "I'm sure Gabriel will be happy that _someone _appreciates his efforts."

"Sam…" Dean hesitated. "You know I didn't mean it that way."

"Whatever you say, man," I muttered, not really in the mood to let Dean off the hook that easily. I was _beyond _tired, Dean seemed to think I was _twelve_, and it was all just too much.

"So… we good, then, bitch?"

I ignored the hopeful, almost pleading note in Dean's voice, although I knew I'd feel bad about it later. Whatever. I'd buy Dean some skin mags as an apology. "We're fine. Just drive."

I settled down against the window, trying to rest, ignoring Dean's hurt look.

For all of thirty seconds.

Then it got to me too much – and they say _I _can make Dean do anything I want? Dean ignores the hell out of me whenever he feels like it. But I try to give myself half a minute to think and Dean looks like I did a personal injury to his pet guinea pig.

Idiot.

I cursed, moved away from the window, and let my head rest on Dean's shoulder. (What? I was invisible to everyone but Dean. It's not like random passersby could see.)

"I can't drive like this," Dean growled.

"The hell you can't… Jerk."

I felt Dean sigh. "Sam, I didn't mean…"

"I know."

"But the fact still holds."

I shifted back. Weren't we done with the argument _yet_? Normally when the stupid things were said and we were both feeling a little guilty we just let the subject _drop_.

"What fact?" I asked. "That Dave doesn't _worry_ you?"

"No. That _you_ do. _Damn _it, Sam!" Dean pulled up onto the shoulder of the road. We were miles out of Lawrence by now, in the back of beyond. "Don't you _get _it? Look, I remember both lives, OK? Fully. The one from _our _world, _and_ this one. Dave can take care of himself!"

"And I can't?"

"You _don't_. Sure you're bigger than most things that try to hurt you, and smarter, and probably stronger, too. But if you saw a werewolf limping, you'd probably try to go bandage its foot! You don't understand the way evil things work!"

"Dean. I had Lucifer in my _head_. I understand plenty."

"You're not _hearing _me, Sam. I –"

Dean's cell phone, ringing shrilly, cut him off. With a glance that told me the discussion wasn't over, he grabbed it and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

Two minutes later, we were driving back into Lawrence.

"Freaking _Gabriel_," Dean muttered. "I was only supposed to have to deal with the Apocalypse freaking _once_. Freaking – stupid – _Archangel_."

The Archangel Michael – the Prince of Angels, the symbol of righteousness, all that – had walked into an elementary school, corralled the first-graders into the gym, and given Dean and Dave six hours to say yes before he started blasting.

"Trouble, boys?"

Dean scowled at Gabriel where he'd just materialized in the backseat.

"Like you wouldn't imagine. What, you guys kill _children _now?"

"They'll all go straight to Heaven, Dean. A much better life awaits them than this lowly mortal plane."

"_Dude_," Dean growled.

At the same time, I said, "Are you _defending_ –"

"No, Sammy. I'm _not _defending. I'm just pointing out the bright side of the situation. I've never been a fan of Michael's intimidation tactics. But big brothers do what they want, right, Dean?"

"Why are you here?" I asked, before Dean could reply. "Have you just come to gloat?"

"I've come to find out if you monkeys actually have a _plan_." He paused. "Because I can tell you one thing: going with guns blazing is just going to get you _and _those children killed."

"Well, what do you _suggest _we do? We don't have time to trick Lucifer into his Cage – and there's nobody to do it this time, anyway."

"There's David," Gabriel pointed out, smirking. Dean gave him a look, and he laughed. I frowned from one to the other: I felt like I was on the outside of some joke they were both sharing.

"What?"

"It's _difficult_ to take over control from Lucifer, Sam," Dean said, staring at me like he was shocked I was even asking.

"Don't you think I _know_ that?"

"_No_, Sammy. I don't mean _difficult_ as in you have to put in everything you've got and it leaves you exhausted. I mean _difficult _as in it is not _possible_ for people who aren't moody little bitches, just like walking up a vertical wall is not possible for people who aren't Spiderman." He reached out to ruffle my hair. "You're stronger than you know, kiddo."

"Please," Gabriel said. "Get a _room_."

"Send us back to our world and we will," Dean said.

"Nice try. I think I'm having too much fun to do that just yet, Dean. And, honestly, I'm curious… How _do _you think you're going to do this without Sam? And, I might add, without the rings? Sending my brothers downstairs isn't an option this time."

"You obviously have a plan, so why don't you share with the class?"

"Maybe later. I came to give you this – you're welcome to try your luck with it." He leaned forward, and one of the angel-killing swords dropped to the front seat between us.

"Why are you helping us?" Dean asked.

"What can I say, boys? I've put my money on you, and I don't like losing."

Dean waited for him to disappear before he turned to me. "It isn't that I don't trust you, Sam… I know you can take care of yourself. It's just…"

"What?"

"Dave… Man, he's a lot like me – no, let me finish. I don't have to worry about what he'll do, because usually it's what I'd do. I'm not saying it's always right, but because it's the same thing I'd do there's not a lot I can give him by way of helpful advice. And… it's not just that." He sighed. "I love him, but… You know, he's my brother. It's a normal sibling relationship."

"As opposed to ours?"

"Do you really need me to say it? You know I – you _know _how important you are to me, Sammy."

I sighed and nodded. I did know.

"You know," Dean said, "when I died _here_, I was gone for six months, not four. And when I came back… Dave was missing me, but he wasn't doing anything stupid. Just the job, and maybe trying for a little revenge on the side. But that was it."

"Thank you," I said a little bitterly. "Let me know when you think I've apologized enough for that."

"That's not my _point_, Sam. My point is that maybe it was stupid to trust Ruby but I understand now why you did it. Dave _didn't_ do anything stupid because although he missed me, he wasn't out of his mind with grief. And if he were to say yes to Lucifer and walk into the Cage, it would tear me up, and I would do everything I could to bust him out – but I wouldn't feel like the sun had no right to shine anymore." He glared at me. "There. Are you happy now? We're a pair of girls."

"Just drive," I said.

Dean shut up. The silence actually lasted two whole minutes.

Then he said, "Sammy… We're going to have to tell people, you know."

"Tell whom? And tell them what?"

"About you. That you're here."

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean. I know Mom and Dad are hunters, but even for hunters this isn't exactly normal… They're going to think you're crazy. It's not like they can see me, and I don't know how to do whatever it is ghosts do to appear physically to people."

"We obviously can't tell them _everything_. But we've got to tell them something, Sam."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to be with us and we're probably going into a fight. I don't want someone to spot you on an infrared camera and shoot you with the Colt. This is just supposed to be temporary, but if something like _that _happens it might wind up being permanent."

"If we tell them, they might do it anyway."

"I won't let them. C'mon, Sammy… Trust me. I'll take care of it."

"But –"

"Sam, don't you trust me?"

"Fine," I grumbled. "Fine… But you'd better be right about this."

"Good. Now get some rest. I think this might be a long night."

I curled up against the window like I usually did, but that just made me feel every bump and jolt like an electric shock. I stood it for a minute. Then, deciding that after the miserable few days I'd had I was entitled to be a girl, I went back to leaning on Dean's shoulder.

Dean chuckled, told me I was an emo little bitch, and drove so smoothly that I didn't realize the car had stopped until he shook me and told me we were home.

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	11. A Time to Keep

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **At the moment I have just enough time for an update, which is unlikely to happen again until Monday, so I figured… ;-)

Thanks to my reviewers: clair beaubien, confizzled, godsdaughter77, Ellie Jane Farrell, sarah, Starfan1245, APRIL26, Kathryn Marie Black, Sparkiebunny, jayfeather63, cold kagome, Eavis, SPN Mum, OutTonightAndForever, SkeksisGirl, BranchSuper, Aoi-Moku, SandyDee84, Kittle, Lilithakaducky, teal-lover, TinTin11 and Scribble2Much.

Many thanks, always, to Cheryl, for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

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><p><strong>Chapter X: A Time to Keep, and a Time to Cast Away<strong>

Easy? Not a bit of it.

I started out standing next to Dean while he explained the situation to Mom, Dad and David. Mom looked as though she was about to order Dean to bed and take him some Tylenol. Dad looked… well, like _Dad_. And David looked like Dean would've looked under similar circumstances, one-fourth _what the hell_, one-fourth _lay off the tequila, dude_ and half _fine, just let me get my shotgun and we'll deal._

About a minute in, Dean put himself firmly in between me and the rest of the room, because Dad had started fingering his shotgun with a look that meant _something_ was about to get hurt.

"Dean," I pointed out, "there are three of them. This isn't going to help."

Dean stopped in the middle of telling Dad about how he _wasn't_ going crazy to say, "Shut up, Sam."

Dad rolled his eyes, moved so that Dean wasn't in his shot, and raised his gun.

"No, _wait_!" Dean hissed, grabbing me and shoving me into a corner. He got in front of me again, this time making sure that nobody could get off a shot without hitting him first.

"_Dean_," I protested, trying to push him off. Because, seriously, what good would it have done? All anyone had to do was shoot Dean in the thigh to drop him and then shoot me. And Dean can be _incredibly _annoying when he gets bullets in his legs. He hates the days of forced inactivity and he whines, grumbles and argues incessantly. At the end of it, the only way I can keep myself from doing him a physical injury is by reflecting that that will only make it go on _longer_.

I _tried _to push him off, and normally it wouldn't have been difficult. I'm four inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier.

But Dean, when he gets into his Sammy-is-going-to-get-hurt frame of mind, is like those four-foot-tall women who single-handedly lift tractors to save their trapped babies. (No, I'm _not _saying Dean's four feet tall. He's at _least _five.)

Anyway, I pushed futilely. It was like trying to shove aside a cement-mixer. Or, more accurately, a mountain, because a cement-mixer, if the brake isn't working properly and you're at the right angle, might shift a _little_, but a mountain will just ignore you.

"Dean," Dad said, and it was obvious that he was trying to sound logical. "He's obviously done something to you, or you wouldn't be reacting like this. Since when do you fall for stupid tricks? For such _basic _tricks? We both know you're smarter than that. Come on, now, just – you can see him, right? How about you get rid of him yourself?"

"Damn it," Dean swore. "Dad, it's _Sam_."

Dad opened his mouth to argue, but Mom cut in with, "John, we don't have time for this." Dad and Dean turned to stare at her in shock. I'm pretty sure I did, too. She shrugged. "Look, maybe it _is_ Sam and maybe it isn't. We have no way of confirming that right now. But whoever – or whatever – it is, Dean says it's been hanging around for a few days and it doesn't seem to have tried to hurt him. Right now we have to deal with Michael. We can sort this out when that's done."

"I went to Missouri," Dean protested. "She said it was Sam! And I can _tell _it's Sam."

"Dean, you _can't _know that. But we can discuss it later. Right now we have to stop Michael."

Dean nodded. "I – I've got a sword – one that _will _kill him." At Mom's raised eyebrow, he added, "Long story. I'll explain later. But, yeah, I'm 100% sure it'll work."

"Dean," I said, "_no_. Don't be stupid. You're never going to be able to get close enough to use the sword."

Dean ignored me. Of _course_ he bloody ignored me. I'm just the guy who spent a hundred and eighty years stuck in a box with Michael and Lucifer. Why the hell would _I _know anything about it? (And, fine, it's not like I remember it all – but I remember _enough_.) Anyway, Dean knew as well as I did that you couldn't just grab a sword and go fencing. It was a _stupid_ idea and –

And, I realized as Dean looked back over his shoulder at me, Dean _knew _it was a stupid idea. He _knew _Michael would kill him long before he could get close enough to use the sword. He was just doing it because he thought that one way or another, whether Dean killed Michael or Michael killed Dean, it would force Gabriel to end the game and send us back to our world, where I was alive and not a ghost.

I couldn't really blame him, because, you know, hello, Pot, my name is Kettle. But that didn't mean I was going to let him _do _it. Alternate reality or not, being killed by Michael might wind up being permanent.

How the hell were Mom and Dad going along with this, anyway? Didn't they _know _it was ridiculous?

"Dean. _No,_" I repeated, although I knew it would be pointless.

Dean turned back to Mom. "So… Why don't you get stuff ready. I just need to go upstairs and… do a thing. I'll be down in a minute and we can leave."

"Sure, sweetie. Are you OK?"

"I'm fine."

Dean waited until we were in his room with the door shut before rounding on me. "Don't you _dare _look at me like that, Sam. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, you do. So why are you still doing it?"

"I have to. I can't – this has to _end_, Sam."

"Not like this. You can't keep putting yourself on the line for me. This is the dumbest idea you've ever had in a lifetime full of dumb ideas, and even including that librarian in Wyoming! You're playing right into his hands. He's going to force you to say yes."

"Let him try."

"Dean –"

"And you're staying here."

"How the hell – I _can't _stay here, Dean. I'm – tied to you, or something. I don't know what."

"Stop arguing, Sam. Now we're doing this, and we're doing it my way."

"The hell we are! If you can stop being an idiot and listen to me for one freaking minute – you don't have to do this! It's exactly what they want, whoever's behind this. Even assuming we _could_ split up, when has _anything_ good _ever _come from us doing that?"

"I am _not _risking you, Sam!"

"I'm not a freaking _child_, Dean! I'm old enough to know which risks I want to take –"

"Clearly you're not, since you think it's a good idea to take this one."

"Don't be a jerk. I'm coming."

"You have no idea what's going on in this world, Sam."

"_That's_ your answer to everything!" I snapped in exasperation. "Whenever I say anything you don't like, it's because I have no idea what's going on. I've got news for you, Dean. I lived through one almost-Apocalypse, just the same as you did. I might not know who the mayor is or where you went for your eighteenth birthday in _this _reality –"

"Partying with my classmates," Dean said.

It really was irrelevant, considering how many other things were going on, but I spared a second to stare at him. Sure, Dean liked bars and clubs and pretty girls, but spending his eighteenth birthday hanging out with his friends? Not the Dean I knew.

So Dean's eighteenth birthday was another thing he'd missed because I'd lived to see my first. He could've been having fun with friends, and instead he got to spend it taking his little brother for a long drive in the Impala and falling asleep in the front seat in the middle of nowhere.

"That's not the point," I said, pushing the thought aside. "I know how Michael and Lucifer work, just as well as you do. And I'm a good hunter –"

"You're better than good, Sam. That's not the point. You have to _listen_ to me. I'm your older brother."

"So what?"

"So _what_?" Dean repeated, and I flushed. That had come out wrong.

"Dean, I didn't mean –"

"You know, I'm sick of this. I'm doing every freaking _thing _that I can think of to keep you safe. It's not like I asked for any of this."

"Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean's hands fisted in the front of my jacket. "Then how about you _listen_ to me without arguing? For _once_ in your freaking _life_? Everything supernatural always makes a beeline for you _anyway_. How about you try _not _to make my job harder? You know, you could learn a thing or two from Dave."

"I'm not going to let you get yourself killed," I growled, trying to push Dean off me.

He pushed back, shoving me up against the window. My mind went blank for a moment; at first I attributed it to the jolt of my head hitting the grille, but then the _pain _hit –

It was _almost _as bad as the little I could remember from the Cage. It was like my skin was on fire, like _I _was on fire.

It took me a moment to work it out. Hunter's house. The window grilles were made of iron. And I was a spirit. Normally it should have forced me to – dissipate, or whatever – but since I couldn't do _that _(and you'd think, wouldn't you, that if Gabriel was going to turn me into a ghost he'd do the job _right_?), it just hurt like a bitch.

"_Dean_," I choked. "Iron."

Dean's expression went from anger to horror in a second.

He pulled me off. My knees gave and Dean wasn't prepared for the sudden weight, so we fell together. He just managed to keep me from hitting the ground completely. He got an arm around my back in time to support me when the first wave of nausea hit.

I retched, coughing up blood, and I heard Dean hiss. "_Crap_… Pretty sure _that _shouldn't be happening."

"S-sorry," I mumbled, not certain if I was apologizing for the argument or the blood on Dean's shirtfront. And where was it _coming_ from, anyway? I was a spirit. No blood, right?

"Don't be stupid," Dean snapped. "It was my fault, I should've remembered that damn iron grille. And I shouldn't have been shoving you anyway. Just… Just relax, OK? It's going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

"You can't _do _it, Dean. _Please._"

Dean sighed, one hand running through my hair. "Take a minute, Sam."

"How's Mom _letting _you –?"

"Nobody here knows just how bad it is, kiddo. Remember our suicide run? We thought _that _would work… You have to admit this has a better chance."

"Still not a good chance."

"I have to try."

"Dean –"

I was cut off by a gunshot, and _damn it_ the pain was back. I swallowed a sob. Everything _hurt_ – it felt like being back in the Cage – and I couldn't muster the energy to do more than burrow deeper into Dean's arms and let him deal with whoever it was.

It was a while before he started dealing with whoever it was, though, because his first reaction was to hold me closer and talk me through the pain. As the buzzing in my head lessened, words began to filter through.

"… OK, Sam, it's OK. I've got you. Just rock salt. Probably hurts, but it can't kill you. You're OK, kiddo. I've got you…"

"_Dean_," I choked unhappily. (It's a good thing Dean's name is just one short syllable. The actor who was playing him in that _other _alternate reality was called – what? _Jensen_? Can you imagine trying to get out the word 'Jensen' when you're tired and hurting and miserable and you want your big brother?)

"It's OK." I don't know how Dean managed it, considering how short he is, but somehow I ended up with my head tucked under his chin while he rocked back and forth a little. "I know it hurts… I'm here, Sammy."

When I was calmer, Dean raised his head. "Dad, what the _hell_?"

_Dad?_

Just when I thought this couldn't get any worse…

"I thought I'd come up and see what was taking you so long," Dad said, stepping closer. I could see his boots; I couldn't make myself raise my head so I could see the rest of him. "Dean, you're hugging empty air."

Dean's hand moved on my back. "No, I'm not."

"We have to go."

"I know. Just… give me a minute. Let me take care of him." One of Dean's arms moved off me, briefly, but before I could wonder what he was doing it was back again.

"Dean, are you sure –"

"Yeah, I've got this. Can you pick up my guns?"

"Sure," Dad said easily. I could hear him moving around the room, and the distinctive sounds of him getting ready for a hunt. Steel whispered as he checked the guns, something rattled in a canister, and there was the distinctive clicking of rosary beads.

"C'mere," Dean said gently, pulling me up enough for my head to rest on his shoulder. I shut my eyes, comforted by the smell of gunpowder and Dean's aftershave and the sound of Dad moving around the room. My childhood – the childhood I remembered – had been full of just that.

"You're OK," Dean murmured, and his voice and Dad's quiet footsteps were all I could hear. "You're going to be fine, Sammy. I promise. I've got you. I'm going to take care of you, OK? Not going to let anything hurt you. Just relax. I'm here."

Dad's footsteps moved away, towards the door – apparently he'd got whatever he needed.

"Dean?" he asked from the doorway.

"Be down in a minute," Dean said, rubbing my neck. I heard the door shut. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

"What for?" I mumbled.

"This."

Dean abruptly pushed me off, got to his feet and moved away. I caught myself, just managing not to fall over completely. I didn't even bother trying to get to my feet. "Dean, what the _hell_?"

"I can't risk you, Sam. I'm sorry."

"What do you –"

I saw it. Around me, a neat ring of salt, four inches thick.

_Dad _had done that? I felt betrayed.

And then I realized it was _worse_. _Dad _had done that while _Dean _kept me distracted.

That brought a flood of memories, being tricked into the panic room, Dean _leaving_ me there and the hours alone in the dark not knowing if I was going to live or die alone.

Not again.

Not freaking _again_.

I tried to reach out past the salt ring, but the minute my fingers got close it felt like I was putting my hand through a wall of fire.

I snatched my hand back.

"_Dean?_"

"You'll forgive me someday, kiddo," Dean said lightly. He didn't look like he believed it. I wasn't too sure myself, either.

"You shoved me up against that iron grille on _purpose_?" I asked, my voice caught somewhere between anger and betrayal and just not caring anymore. "And Dad's salt round?"

"_NO!_" Dean snapped. "How can you even _suggest _that?" I glared at him, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine, I guess I deserve it. But I _didn't_ do that, Sam. I swear to you – I'd never hurt you like that."

"But you don't trust me. What are you afraid of, Dean? That I'm going to bring on the Apocalypse if I go with you?"

"_Sam._" Dean came back, stepping over the salt line and dropping to his knees again. "Don't be ridiculous. Of _course _I trust you, kiddo. You think I don't know how strong you are?" He grabbed my shoulders. "But I don't need you to be strong right now. I need you to be safe. It'll all be over soon."

"Just go," I said wearily, pulling away. Dean could talk all he wanted about trusting me; his actions were clear as day.

Dean got up and backed off, very careful not to disturb the salt line. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

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	12. A Time to Rend

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

Thanks to Cheryl for a _lot_ of patience!

Thanks to my reviewers: AlwaysTardy, Eavis, godsdaughter77, cold kagome, Katy M VT, anonymous, Ellie Jane Farrell, APRIL26, TinTin11, Nyx Ro, XspriteyX, sarah, BranchSuper, SPN Mum, Renart, SkeksisGirl, cookjar, Kathryn Marie Black, jolynn3277, OutTonightAndForever, Sparkiebunny, SandyDee84, Twinchester Angel, Scribble2Much, IritIlan, Irish Nun, Aaleiyah JoRayne Hunter, giacinta, teal-lover, Shakari and Beth4LC.

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><p><strong>Chapter XI: A Time to Rend, and a Time to Sew<strong>

It was when Dean had gone that I realized just how bad it was going to get.

Dean left, I heard footsteps and voices and the Impala driving away. I felt the tug that meant the universe was trying to drag me back to Dean.

Then the universe came up against Dean's salt line, and all I knew was pain.

In retrospect, I'm not really mad at Dean. I can't be, not after the flood of apologies and pleading and self-recrimination that came when he eventually realized what had happened. He still won't touch the salt canisters when we're on a hunt. At the time, though… I used up my entire store of swear words and then invented a few new ones. It was the worst pain I've ever been in, barring the Cage.

I sobbed and shook through it, desperate and willing to try just about anything to get it to end. I _did _try taking off my jacket and using it to brush the salt away, but it just passed harmlessly through the salt. Apparently ghostly jackets don't turn corporeal just because they're removed from ghostly bodies.

About half an hour in – or an hour – or, given how it _felt_, it could well have been eight freaking _days_ – Gabriel showed up.

"You see?" he said, sitting on Dean's bed and watching me in fascination, like he was studying an ant under a microscope. "Dean really doesn't want you around. Just look at the lengths he's going to, to keep you away."

In a wretched heap of blood and tears, I was hardly in a position to argue.

"You _can_ make it stop," Gabriel said. "Unless you _enjoy_ the suffering? You mortals seem to make a virtue of it. I've never known any other species to engage in such fierce competition to see who's had the more miserable life."

The only part of that I really paid attention to was 'make it stop'.

"H-how?" I gasped.

"Step out of the ring."

"_Dude._" I glared at Gabriel. "Not – freaking – _funny_."

"Of course it isn't funny. I'm not joking. But, before you try it, keep in mind, first, that it will hurt beyond anything else except possibly Brother Lucifer's more inventive tortures, and, second, the instant you're out of the ring you will be pulled to Dean."

Dean. _Crap._

That made me forget the pain for a moment.

"D'you know what's going on with them? Are they still alive?"

"For now, yes. I don't think that's going to last long. I understand that the whole thing was a trap." I waited. I was sure there was more. I didn't need Gabriel just to tell me it was a trap. "Lucifer's there, too," Gabriel added, almost casually, like he was telling me there was a bake sale in the schoolyard.

"_What?_"

"My guess is that he was a part of it all along. You know, lure Dean and David to one place with both Lucifer and Michael present and dozens of innocent little children to use as leverage. The Apocalypse is hours away."

"Dean won't –"

"Dean _will_. David _will_. And once they've said yes – well, you can imagine the rest. Would _you _have been able to take over from Lucifer without Dean to fight for?"

"_No,_" I said, wishing I were good for _something_ other than writhing in agony on the floor. "God… What can I _do_? Even if I get there?" Gabriel just sat and looked at me. "Come _on_," I hissed. "You don't want this. I _know_ you don't. Who – is – it? Who's holding your leash?"

"I don't have a leash."

"_Please._"

Gabriel sighed. "_Think_, Sam. I know most of your mind is currently occupied with the torture you're undergoing, but surely even you mud-crawling apes have enough intelligence to cope with two ideas at the same time." He paused. "I'll even put it in simple terms for you. Who do you know who wants the Apocalypse and is strong enough to threaten an Archangel as cunning and powerful as I am?"

I blinked. My brain was foggy, and –

"Atropos?" I asked. It was building, getting worse and worse the further away Dean got. "She wanted it… But she's not… that… powerful. Was… scared of… Cas."

"But Atropos has friends, doesn't she? Sisters? _You _should understand better than anybody that the combined strength of siblings is far greater than the sum of its parts."

"The Fates?" Gabriel nodded. "_Why?_"

"Because _you _rendered them irrelevant. They don't like that. They don't like you and they don't like the cancellation of the Apocalypse."

"Dean'll –"

"Sam," Gabriel said firmly, "listen to me. Dean _won't_. Dean cannot defeat Michael without you any more than you could take control from Lucifer without him. No matter what you think, Dean _isn't_ Superman. He's a man, and he tries his best to be everything you've always seen in him, but that's _it_. Now, you have a choice. You can wait here, or you can leave. If you leave, you can hang around and watch, or you can try to help. One way or another, you'll get to make your choice at the end of it all."

"And… Dean?"

"The angel-killing sword won't do any permanent damage to either of you. The Colt will."

Was there ever any question what I was going to do? I was pissed as hell, but Dean was Dean. "Have to… help…"

"Then don't sit there snivelling and whining like an infant. You just told Dean you're not a child. _Prove it._" Gabriel gestured at the circle of salt. "Spirits don't cross them because it hurts too much and would probably cause their essence to implode from the stress. But you've withstood Lucifer's games and emerged… well, _somewhat _intact. I think it might be safe for you to try. Not easy, and certainly painful, but I don't think you'll actually die. No promises, of course."

"I can… cross?" I asked painfully.

"Are you listening to me at _all_? Yes, Sam. You can cross."

"Then… what?"

"Then you'll just have to figure something out."

Bloody _Gabriel_.

_Right. First things first. Step through the ring of salt._

It was easier said – or thought – than done. It's one thing to endure torture that you can't do anything about, and another thing altogether to deliberately do something that'll make it worse.

I got to my feet, wobbly as hell, and made for the white line. It might as well have been a roaring wall of fire: the closer I got, the hotter and colder and more intensely it burned, and by the time I was standing at the edge of the ring I was _sure _my sanity wouldn't survive a trip through it.

But I'd survived Lucifer and Michael and the Cage, right? Sure, there was the Great Wall of Sam involved, and maybe what I was doing wasn't precisely _surviving_, but whatever. It had happened, I was alive.

What was stepping over a salt line compared to being a chewtoy for two Archangels?

_Dean needs me._ That was the one thought that could keep me going, that had always kept me going. _Dean needs me. I need to do this for Dean. I have to get to Dean._

I gathered every scrap of willpower I had and flung myself across the line.

There was a rush of sound and darkness and _pain _so strong I couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't do anything but try to work through it, _work through it_ –

And something _pulled_ –

The world was rushing past, a confusing jumble of darkness and deeper darkness and a strange high-pitched whining –

I groaned.

I was lying on the ground, curled in on myself, and as soon as I cracked my eyes open I knew I wasn't in Dean's room anymore.

A… schoolroom?

I pushed myself up on my elbows – _God_, my head hurt – and looked around. I was at the very back of the classroom, under the hooks where the kids presumably hung their coats and jackets. It was dark. The only light came from the lamp on the teacher's desk, where Mom, Dad, Dean and Dave were gathered. Dean hadn't noticed me yet. I was surprised he hadn't sensed me near again, but grateful, too – he would be furious when he found out I was there.

"Slide backwards," a voice murmured as Gabriel materialized next to me. "Through the wall. _Quietly._"

I rolled my eyes. I was a freaking _spirit_. How much noise was I going to _make_? But I obeyed anyway, shifting back, through the thin classroom wall into the corridor outside.

Once I was out, I got to my feet and waited for Gabriel to show, which he did a second later.

"You seem to have survived intact," he said, eyeing me up and down and sounding almost as though he was disappointed that he hadn't found me weltering in a pool of my own blood. "Just as well. I wouldn't have enjoyed trying to explain things to your overprotective Rottweiler of a brother if you'd done yourself an injury."

Then someone else spoke.

"_Gabriel._"

It was one word spoken with three voices, three very angry female voices, and I knew even before I turned around what we were dealing with.

Three women stood in a tight group at the head of the stairs. They were all blonde and all glaring at me. I should've been scared – I _really_ should, and it's not like I was feeling particularly brave; but at that point I really didn't see it getting too much worse.

"Klotho," Gabriel said. "Lakhesis. Atropos. To what do I owe this unexpected but most welcome pleasure?"

"You were _not_ meant to help him," the one on the left said. I suppressed a shiver. If she'd sounded _angry_ it wouldn't have been so bad, but she sounded… indifferent. Like someone pointing out a mosquito before hitting it with bug repellent. "That was the agreement. You were to leave him to work things out on his own _if _he could. It was _your _interference that averted the Apocalypse in the first place. If you hadn't fallen over yourself telling those two worthless puppets about the rings –"

"Done is done," Gabriel responded. "You said I could give him the occasional nudge. I believe the exact terms were 'hints and suggestions are acceptable within reason'."

"You tricked us!"

The Archangel grinned. "Tricked _you_? That wasn't me, sweetheart. You did that all by yourself. I told you exactly what I was offering you. You took it voluntarily. Nobody forced you to drink four bottles of Everclear."

"You got us drunk –"

"And you let me do it. You really should know better. I'd thought what happened with Admetus would teach you a lesson –"

"That's _enough_!" The woman – whichever one she was – scowled at him, then at me. "I don't know what you're trying to prove by this, Gabriel. You know it isn't real. If we _really_ do this, _that_ boy isn't going to be in the picture at all." She pointed at me. "He'll be away in Heaven, remembering none of this. It'll be an entirely different situation."

"Yeah?" Gabriel said mockingly. "Why don't you just go ahead and do it, then? Go back in time. Kill Sam Winchester. See what happens." He waited for a moment before continuing. "We both know the truth, Klotho. As much as you want to go back, take little Sammy out of the picture and have your Apocalypse, you can't do it. You can't change the past. You think I don't know about _your _little loophole? You want Sam to ask for it himself, to cut his own thread because _you_ can't do it."

"He and his brother changed what was destined to happen."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe what was destined was that they should destroy the concept of destiny. Even _I _don't presume to know my father's mind as completely as the three of you claim you do. It doesn't matter, though. You know the rules. We're doing this because I can't bear to hear more of your whining, and also because you threatened me with unimaginable consequences if I didn't help you. But once it's over, you don't start it _again_."

"_You _cannot help him anymore," Klotho hissed. "I think we've reached the limits of _reasonable assistance_. And if we win… then we win."

They vanished. I looked at Gabriel. "What the _hell_? What was that about?"

"I think the stakes just got a little higher, Sammy. I wasn't expecting the three of them to turn up here. If they can do it, that means this dimension isn't as alternate as I thought."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Apocalypse. Michael and Lucifer destroying the world. I thought we were cut off here, but it looks like I was wrong, if the Fates could step through. If the Apocalypse happens here, it'll echo through _every _world. Including yours."

"_What?_"

"And now… I really don't like to leave just when things are getting interesting, but now you're on your own, Sammy. I'll see you when this is over. Or not. Good luck."

He was gone, and I was left alone in the corridor.

I backed off into a classroom on the opposite side, not wanting to encounter Dean if he suddenly came out. I needed to think before I spoke to him, figure out what the hell was going on and whether there was _anything_ we could do about it.

Nothing was simple anymore.

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	13. A Time to Keep Silence

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

Thanks to Cheryl, for everything.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed: Shakari, Eavis, godsdaughter77, Ellie Jane Farrell, cold kagome, Thunderstorm101, SPN Mum, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, Aoi-Moku, Lilithakaducky, BranchSuper, APRIL26, Our Eleventh Hour, jayfeather63, OutTonightAndForever, casammy, SandyDee84, MysteryMadchen, putmoneyinthypurse, giacinta, Sparkiebunny, IrishNun, Lykaia, Twinchester Angel, Scribble2Much, naran2786, Cuculindo, Don'tCallMeSammy and T.L. Arens.

**Author's Note: **So… the bits of news that have been trickling out have me all excited. And we know what that means – one-shots! :D Coming up soon.

In the meantime… We didn't have nearly enough of Dean in the last chapter. (Warning: I have been _seriously_ evil in this one. Just so you know.)

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><p><strong>Chapter XII: A Time to Keep Silence, and a Time to Speak<strong>

Dean's plan sucked.

Well, _duh_. It didn't take a genius to know that. Dean probably knew it himself. The best that could be said of it was that it sucked less than our suicide run plan, because at least this time Dean had a weapon that would _definitely _kill an Archangel.

I couldn't get Gabriel's words out of my head.

_If the Apocalypse happens here, it'll echo through every world._

Freaking _angel_! What the hell did that even _mean_? That if the Apocalypse happened here, it would somehow turn out to have happened in our world too? Or that our world would just be blown apart by spontaneous combustion? Or Michael and Lucifer would suddenly turn up outside the Cage and start slugging it out? _What?_

I paced for a few minutes, chewing at my lip, before I realized it was pointless.

I don't know if it's some strange karma thing, some form of payment for having someone who knows you the way Dean and I know each other, but whenever we split up or separate or try to think of plans without consulting each other, they wind up… Well, they wind up sucking the way Dean's idea of going at Michael with the sword sucked. We need to be working _together_, and, as mad as I was at Dean – and I _was _mad; the pain hadn't really receded yet – I was going to have to go to him and deal.

Deciding was easy, but it took me a moment to work up the courage to actually do it. One way or another, it was going to lead to a fight, and I really didn't want to be fighting with my brother right then.

I took a deep breath. I had to do this, for Dean's sake if not for my own. He'd been through enough with the first Apocalypse.

I walked through two walls to the room where Dean was. This time, instead of skulking in the shadows, I marched up to the teacher's desk. There were two EMF meters on it and they both went crazy when I was within a few feet.

"Whoa!" Dave said in alarm, taking a step back and drawing his gun. "Something's in here."

Dean, whose scowl had been growing increasingly pronounced as I drew closer, looked up at me murderously. "Relax," he told Dave. "It's just Sam. What the _hell_ are you thinking, moron?"

"What the hell am _I _thinking?" I repeated incredulously. "What the hell were _you _thinking? Since when is it a good idea for us to do things on our own?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Sam, I'm _not_ doing this on my own. I just didn't want you to –"

"Oh, so Gabriel was right," I snarled. I knew I was being unfair and that hadn't been what Dean had been getting at. "You _don't _need me when you have –"

"Don't you _dare_." Dean's eyes blazed. He stalked around the table to face me. Dave and Dad backed away from him a little and even I was almost – _almost_ – scared. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Sam. Don't you dare – freaking – _think_ _it_. And don't go putting words in my mouth. That wasn't what I meant and you know it. I was trying to keep you safe."

"I'm not a child, Dean. You're just going to get yourself killed – or worse. Lucifer's here."

"Lucifer's – _what_? How do you know? And how did you get out of the salt ring?"

"Gabriel told me," I said, ignoring the second question. I wasn't sure I could discuss the salt ring without losing my temper. "He and Michael are both here. It was a setup."

"What, Lucifer and Michael working together? Don't be stupid."

"Why wouldn't they? It's been two years more here, Dean. And they don't have Adam to resurrect. They have to be getting desperate. Right now they're going to force both of you to say yes."

"Sam –"

"Enough!" Mom snapped, cutting Dean off.

We both stopped short, turning to stare at her like a pair of children caught squabbling (which, I guess, we kind of _were_). She glared at Dean and then _straight_ at me. My brain was telling me she couldn't see me and she was just judging by where Dean had been looking, but the rest of me was dead certain she knew exactly where I was.

I sidled behind Dean. A half-turned head and a quirked lip were his only reaction, but it was enough. However much we argued with each other, he wouldn't let anyone, not even Mom, hurt me.

"_You_," Mom said, frowning at Dean, "clearly haven't come fully clean with us. It doesn't sound like you met Sam for the first time today."

"I told you, I've been sensing him for a few days, and –"

"_Don't _lie to me, Dean."

"Tell her the truth," I said.

Dean gave me one of those little-brothers-are-idiots look. "Don't be ridiculous, Sam. She's not going to believe it, and there's no time to explain."

"What am I not going to believe?" Mom demanded.

Just then, a booming thud reverberated through the building. The floor shook, the desks and chairs shook, and books and binders tumbled off the shelves.

Dean looked at me, and we were both thinking the same thing. Whatever this was, it was highly unlikely to be a good thing.

"I'll check it out," I told him, moving towards the door.

"No!" Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "What are you, nuts? It's probably Michael or Lucifer –"

"It's probably Michael _and _Lucifer."

"And you're going to walk right into the middle of the biggest family squabble in history?"

"What exactly can they do to me, Dean? I'm already dead!"

"Keep pointing that out, Sam. You know, just in case I forget. That makes me feel _so _much better about everything."

"I'm sorry, but Dean, there's no sense running in blind –"

"No," Dean said firmly, grasping my jacket and pulling me so close that he was right in my face. (Or, well, _almost_ in my face, because he really can't do anything about those four inches. Tough luck, _big _brother.) "Stop and _listen_ to yourself, Sam. You were the one saying it's a bad idea for us to split up."

"I'm just going to _look_."

"_Sam._"

I sighed. It figured that Dean wouldn't even trust me to go and reconnoitre. After the incident with the salt line? I couldn't imagine what I'd been thinking.

I don't know what I was about to do at that point – yell at Dean, probably. It would've done no good at all and just led to another argument about how _I'm not a freaking baby, Dean_ and _No, but you are a freaking idiot, Sam_.

But the clock was ticking and we really didn't have that much time left, so it was just as well that the door chose that moment to open.

Or, you know, that the people on the other side of the door chose that moment to open it.

Two figures stepped through. Neither was familiar. I suppose I should've expected that. Nick had been falling to bits almost from the get-go.

Michael and Lucifer – I was pretty sure that was who they were; by that point, wall or not, I could recognize them in any form – exchanged a glance, long and slow and meaningful. The lights came on, and while Dean and Dave and our parents were squinting and blinking in the sudden glare, Lucifer turned to me.

"Little Sammy Winchester," he said, and even if I didn't know the voice, the tone, the alluring, almost seductive drawl, was something I would never forget. "Here despite all Gabriel's efforts to keep you out of it. You know, I'm almost tempted to resurrect you just so I can possess you the way I was meant to –"

"_Lucifer_," Michael warned, and it was _creepy_ how much he sounded like Dean.

Lucifer sighed. "Yes, of course. I remember what happened." He looked at me, cocked an eyebrow. "You know… Because Gabriel can meddle with your pathetic little human memories, but he can't touch mine. So I _do _remember what happened, Sam. I'm not happy about it. Impressed, but not happy. I assure you we'll be dealing with that."

He raised a clenched fist, and I was on my knees on the ground coughing up blood.

_Again._

Seriously, it was getting old fast.

I didn't bother clutching at my chest or my head or my throat or doing anything else dramatic. What was the point? It wouldn't help, the effort would just tire me out, and I'd be giving Lucifer and Michael something funny to laugh at when they needed a break from threatening children.

I sensed movement. Dean had put himself between me and Lucifer, as though _that _was going to do any good. Lucifer laughed and turned to Mom.

"So… Mary. How do you feel now knowing it didn't work? Good? Guilty?" Mom shot him a silent glare. "Oh, my dear girl, did you _really_ think I wouldn't find out about your heroic but ultimately pointless and pathetic little attemptto thwart destiny? Azazel told me _everything_. It took some persuasion, of course, because he knew he'd be in trouble for rearranging my plans. But I got the truth from him in the end."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mom snapped.

She was lying. I could tell. Dean could tell: he shifted a little, still shielding me from Lucifer's sight but now watching Mom with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Dave, from the way he hefted his gun and eyed her, could tell too.

Dad, on the other hand? Dad obviously already knew what was going on. He moved closer to Mom, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"As I once, a very long time ago, told Sammy," Lucifer drawled, "_I _have never lied to _you_. Return the courtesy. Especially now that you know you were _wrong_ –"

"I wasn't wrong!" Mom sounded angry and miserable and distraught all at the same time.

"No? But I thought what you did was meant to prevent the Apocalypse – and yet here we are, Mary, only hours away from the end of the world as you know it. I'd say that's about as wrong as it gets."

"What are you talking about?" Dean growled.

Lucifer dropped his hand and stared at Dean in mock-astonishment. The burning in my lungs gone, I started to struggle to my feet. Dean stuck a hand behind his back without turning around. I grabbed it and hauled myself up.

"You mean Mary didn't tell you?" the Devil said, feigning surprise. "Mary, my _dear_. I'm so sorry."

"Shut – the hell – _up_," Dad said, raising a gun – the Colt, I realized.

Dean said quickly, "Don't! You'll just piss him off!" But he wasn't quick enough: dad fired, Lucifer's vessel got a hole in it, and Lucifer rolled his eyes.

"You should listen to your son, John. I have to admit I'm _hurt_. Just when I thought we were having a conversation like reasonable people…"

"Lucifer," Michael broke in. "_Enough._"

Lucifer scowled at his brother. For just a moment the facade cracked and I could see just how shaky their alliance was. They were working together to get Dean's cooperation, and Dave's. The moment they had it, the world would end.

"I'm so sorry," Lucifer said at last. "I got sidetracked. Where was I?" He turned to Mom. "I believe I was apologizing to you. I'm sorrier than I can say, Mary. I seem to have inadvertently let a skeleton out of your cupboard." He paused, looked at me, looked at Dean, and smiled at Mom. "A six-month-old skeleton that you put there over twenty-eight years ago."

I couldn't keep from flinching as the implications of that broke on me.

And I wasn't in time to stop Dean from saying, "What's he talking about, Mom?" His voice was hard and brittle.

"Don't listen to him, Dean. He's lying."

"Deny it if you can," Lucifer responded. "Deny that you believed the trumped-up story Gabriel fed you. Deny that you believed Azazel. Deny that you _decided_ to believe them, no matter _how _unlikely it sounded, because it made _you _feel less guilty about having made a deal giving your infant son to a demon."

"A _deal_?" Dad demanded. "What deal?"

"I didn't –"

"Azazel didn't lie to me. I made certain of _that_. If he was telling the truth, Mary, then _you _are lying _now_."

"Mary –"

"He's _lying_," Mom said, turning to Dad desperately. "John – he's _lying_."

"Lying, am I? So you _didn't_ make a deal with Azazel to bring John Winchester back from the dead? You _didn't_ promise a _demon_ that he could have your infant son?"

"Mary?" Dad asked, horror colouring his voice.

"I didn't _know_ –"

"You _chose _not to know," Lucifer growled. "You chose to give your son to Azazel."

"He promised me nobody would get hurt!"

Lucifer sighed. "Do we really have to do this? You know and I know that making that deal wasn't the worst thing you did to little Sammy. Was it?"

"Please –"

"You _gave_ him to Azazel. You walked into that nursery ready to fight, and when Gabriel told you that Sammy was destined to be my vessel and that killing him right then would stop the Apocalypse, you decided to follow the example of Sparta. You stood back and _let_ Azazel do it."

"I thought –"

"You thought Gabriel was telling the truth. And you thought erasing every reminder of Sam Winchester's existence would undo the part _you _played in it."

"_No_," Mom said desperately. "I didn't – he told me – Gabriel told me Sammy would be happier that way. He said – he said if he lived he would – because of the vessel thing he would have a life so miserable that death would seem like a _gift_, and if I let him go –"

"Make up all the excuses you want," Lucifer taunted. "You gave your infant son to Azazel."

My knees gave way. Dean caught me before I could fall, tugged me in, said quietly, "Easy, Sammy. I'm sure there's more to it than the son of a bitch is telling us. Mom wouldn't just give you to a demon, especially not to _that _demon." He raised his voice. "There's more to it, right, Mom?"

"Dean – I'm so sorry. You have to _understand_."

I shut my eyes and buried my head in Dean's shoulder. It was stupid, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't – _Mom _hadn't wanted –

I clutched Dean's shirt, wishing that for _once_ in my freaking life I could just _die_ and stay dead. Dean's hand on my back helped a little, but only a little. I wished someone _would_ shoot me with the Colt. Dean's arms were warm and strong and he had abandoned all pretence and was _holding_ me like I was a child again. I could think of worse ways to go.

"Gabriel – he showed me everything," Mom whispered brokenly. "Lucifer's Cage – what might happen to Sam if – if he lived and agreed to become Lucifer's vessel. I did for _Sammy_, Dean. I couldn't bear the thought of him going through that torture."

"So – you _did _let Azazel have him?" Dean asked incredulously, clutching me even tighter.

"She practically lifted him out of the crib and handed him over herself," Lucifer said gleefully.

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><p>What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!<p> 


	14. A Time to Love

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **Those who've figured where the chapter titles are coming from know that this chapter is going to be the last but one… And, this time, I'm going to leave it a little loose, because this is meant to segue into _Let It Bleed_.

This means (unfortunately) that there won't be a chick-flicky epilogue to this. However… There's more coming. ;-) One longer story (called _In Libris Libertas_; for once I don't have to scrabble for a title) that has five chapters to go to completion, one shorter multi-chapter fic and a bunch of one-shots. All I need is a little inspiration to get _writing_ on them, because the muses have been behaving shamefully ever since my exams ended.

Thanks to The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, Our Eleventh Hour, BranchSuper, OutTonightAndForever, APRIL26, Shakari, jayfeather63, cookjar, cold kagome, Smoochynose, Eavis, criminally charmed, Kittle, godsdaughter77, Kathryn Marie Black, Thunderstorm101, Katy M VT, Sparkiebunny, SandyDee84, anonymous, jafreckleslover, crazybookworm95, primadonna cat, SPN Mum, casammy, jensengirl4eva, Twinchester Angel, Mizuki hikari, racmw 13, Likaella, Don'tCallMeSammy, MysteryMadchen, teal-lover, IritIlan, TinTin11, dreamerswaking, T.L. Arens, Scribble2Much, Insomniac Owl, IrishNun and marziebarz for the reviews.

Thank you, again and always, to Cheryl, for listening.

Oh, and before you start reading… I've been even more evil in this. Bringing the story to a head, you know how it goes. You have been warned! :D

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter XIII: A Time to Love, and a Time to Hate<strong>

I could feel Dean's heart thudding at a mile a minute. He was trembling violently, but trying not to let me feel it, one hand rubbing my back and the other tangled in my hair. I could only imagine what he looked like to Mom and Dad and Dave. (Michael and Lucifer were watching with the same kind of detached fascination Gabriel usually had, except that with them it was about a hundred times creepier.)

I was aware – vaguely – that Dean was trying to get Mom to explain. I didn't bother to listen. I really didn't care. I was sure there was a good reason, and no doubt it was for my ultimate benefit, but what _was _it with all the people in my life thinking they could take my decisions for me? First Mom, then Dad, and then _Dean_.

And, yeah, it _was _probably a little illogical to be grumpy about how Dean never let me make my own decisions while at the same time clutching his shirt like a security blanket. But I really, truly, _honestly_ didn't care. I can be mad at Dean and still let him hold me while I try not to cry. (Not that I was anywhere _near_ crying. That's just a random example.) It's one of the privileges of being a little brother (or at least of being _Dean's _little brother).

The funny thing is that it's not uncomfortable to bend enough to bring my head to Dean's shoulder-height when we're both standing. The first time I tried – the first time after I got tall enough to realize that Dean's a garden gnome, I mean – was a few days after Jess died. I'd just finished the paperwork to take a term off and Dean was waiting for me in the quad. I went out, realized that Jess was dead and that if she hadn't had the misfortune to fall in love with me she _wouldn't_ be, and the dam broke. Dean was ready for it, like he'd been expecting it, and before I realized I was sobbing he'd pulled my head down onto his shoulder.

I was expecting my back to protest after a couple of minutes, but Dean was on top of it. He had one hand on my spine, supporting and soothing, and I didn't even realize how awkwardly I was hunched over until I saw the shadow we were throwing on the Impala.

_Anyway_, back in the schoolroom, Dean was making a valiant effort to stay strong for me. I appreciated it. He might not be very good with concepts like agreeing to disagree, but he has the big brother thing down pat. All the questions he put to Mom were in a low, soothing rumble that made his chest vibrate. And if you haven't heard questions like, "Seriously? No offense, Mom, but were you out of your freaking mind?" being asked in the same tone of voice you'd normally use to reassure a terrified child…

(_Yes_, Dean, I admit I was a terrified child. _Anyone_ would've been. _Yes_, Dean Winchester is awesome. Can we move on now? Thank you.)

I wasn't really listening to the details, but I got the gist of it. Gabriel showed up at the same time as Azazel and told Mom all about how I was destined to be Lucifer's vessel. You know the story. Then he embellished it with descriptions of Lucifer's Cage, which was what would be waiting for me when the Apocalypse happened and Michael inevitably won. And, of course, he left out the part about how Dean was destined to be Michael's vessel and they would just co-opt any subsequent Winchester children into taking my place.

Somehow it didn't surprise me to hear that Gabriel had been involved.

What did surprise me was how patiently Michael and Lucifer were standing by and watching. They seemed content to let the drama play out. That _couldn't_ be a good sign.

For the past ten minutes I'd just been hearing two voices: Mom's and Dean's. Mom's was getting more defensive by the second and Dean sounded like he was trying really hard not to let the 'You dared lay your hands on my Sammy' voice seep through.

I really _wasn't_ that mad at Mom. Sure, it sucked, but I could understand where she'd been coming from with the whole Vulcan needs of the many thing. More to the point (and this really _is _a sign of how screwed-up our lives have been) after Dean's stunt with the salt line and the memories that evoked of the panic room, it didn't really seem like that much of a betrayal. It sucked, but when _Dean_ thought I couldn't be trusted to make the right decision, how could I expect anyone else, even my mother, to trust me at all?

"Hey," Dean said softly, shaking his shoulder to get my attention. "No angsting."

His voice snapped me out of it. It wasn't the time for self-pity. (When it comes to that, it never _is _the time for self-pity. Who was it who made that comment about how a small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself?)

That particular moment, though, was even _less_ suitable for self-pity than other moments, and I really needed to stop whining, even if it was just to myself in my head. I was an adult, right? I could deal.

I'd gone there for a purpose, and that purpose _hadn't_ been to snivel in Dean's arms.

I pushed away from Dean. Michael's eyes flickered towards me briefly. It wasn't a threat, more of a warning, letting me know he was watching me and he'd be prepared if I tried anything.

Not that there was a lot I _could_ try. If I could've grabbed the sword and made a run at him I might have done it. If nothing else, it would have established that it was a stupid thing to do and kept Dean or someone else from trying. But I couldn't touch the sword. All I could do was fiddle with cell phones and laptops and other electronic stuff, and what was I going to do with that? _Text_ Michael and Lucifer to death?

In the meantime, Dave had joined in the conversation. I couldn't quite figure out what he wanted. There was a lot of _What the hell_ and _He was my brother too_ and no doubt I should've been paying attention, because he _was _my brother, too, but right then it seemed like there were more important things to worry about.

I needed to think. There had to be a way out of this. Not just out of this particular situation, which really didn't worry me that much – _this _was one of Gabriel's games, and now that I'd had time to think about it I was pretty sure that bringing about an Apocalypse here wouldn't make one happen in the real world. If it'd been _that _easy Raphael would've done it.

No, the key here was what the Fates wanted. What they were holding over Gabriel to make him participate was a different question altogether, one I wasn't sure I wanted to go into.

The answer to that was obvious. The Fates wanted the Apocalypse. They wanted destiny and –

And the pieces fell in place.

I'd been an _idiot _not to see it sooner.

But before I did anything, I needed to talk to Gabriel. I had to be sure I was right. (You _see_, Dean? I didn't just 'do something monumentally stupid and potentially calamitous without the slightest clue whether or not it would work'.)

I slid through the wall and out of the room. Michael and Lucifer watched me go without much interest. It was clear that, as far as they were concerned, my part in the story was over. They were there for their vessels, not for the baby who was killed before he could grow up and play the role destiny had chosen for him.

Gabriel had said he wouldn't come back – but I was guessing that meant he wouldn't come back uninvited. He might still show up if I prayed.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling a little silly. Then I shut my eyes and tried, "Dear Gabriel, I could really use some help right now. So if you could… umm… show yourself, that'd be awesome. Thank you."

I heard the rustle of wings a moment before I opened my eyes.

"_Seriously_, Sammy?" Gabriel asked. "You can't manage by yourself for five minutes?"

"When you said the Apocalypse would echo through every world, you didn't mean the Apocalypse would necessarily _happen_ in our world, did you?"

"Brilliant deduction, Sammy. I knew you couldn't be entirely stupid."

"It's the Fates," I said, ignoring his jibe. "That's it, isn't it? The Fates have – what, have they got _permission_ from God or something? If it happens here, they're allowed to try to rewrite _our _history."

"Not exactly. But correct in the essentials, and since you have an aversion to physics – we _could_ discuss some basic quantum principles and I could explain it to you? No? Fine, then. Yes. The way to make everything end is to prevent the Apocalypse here. If it happens here, the Fates – well, they don't have permission, because I know for a fact that they haven't spoken directly to my father. They'll – let's say they'll feel justified in trying to pull out your thread and thereby cause the end of the world."

"They can't do it without my consent, though, can they?"

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating them, little Sammy. If they want your consent, they'll find a way to _get _your consent."

"If the Apocalypse _doesn't_ happen here, they'll just give up?"

Gabriel sighed. "Do you ever stop asking questions? Raphael hinted to them that this might work. They didn't really believe him but they decided to try – just in case. If it _doesn't_ work, they won't risk breaking the rules. It _is _a rule, like you said: if you've won, then you've won."

"OK… Thanks."

I all but ran back into the other room.

I found myself in the middle of a disaster.

I had no idea how so much had happened in so short a time – I couldn't have been gone more than five minutes. _Literally_ five minutes, and I came back to find that Michael and Lucifer had had time to go to wherever they'd stashed the kids, bring two, and begin –

OK, before I put any horrific imagery in people's heads, they _weren't_ torturing the children. There were two: a boy and a girl, both around six years old. They were terrified and crying but unhurt.

Other than holding a wrist of each to keep them from running, Michael and Lucifer were ignoring them. Their focus was all on Dean and David.

It was fascinating (yup, this is a digression) to watch them. From a purely academic standpoint, of course; I don't mean it was fascinating to watch children being threatened. It was just – the _way _they spoke. So different. Michael was arrogant, haughty, giving orders and issuing threats. He expected to be obeyed and he was _astonished_ that it wasn't happening, that there'd even been a need for threats.

Lucifer – oh, I _knew _Lucifer. I didn't remember Hell, but I remembered his voice when he first possessed me. The persuasiveness, the _seduction_…

Lucifer knew how to make people fall, and he was making headway with David much faster than Dean was with Michael. (Dean disclaims credit and says he was on the verge of saying Yes when I showed up. He didn't look it, although I didn't really get a look at him until after he'd seen me, so I can't say.)

Anyway, threatened harm to children was clearly something Dave had bracketed under things even angels wouldn't be douchey enough to do. Poor kid had a lot to learn.

I hesitated for a moment. Dave was _about_ to say yes, and for my plan to work I'd have to _let_ him. If I was wrong –

If I was wrong, Dean was going to kill me.

Lucifer was holding the girl. He shoved her forward, so that she landed on her knees.

"Come on, David," Lucifer cooed. "She doesn't have to suffer. Are you really going to condemn a child – _children_ – to the worst tortures I can devise just to spare yourself a little discomfort? You can gamble all you want with your own life. Do you have the right to risk anybody else's?"

Dean met my eyes. We knew it was going to happen, and neither of us was surprised when Dave said, "Yes."

"What?" Lucifer cocked his head. "I didn't quite catch that."

"_Yes_," Dave choked. "_Yes_, damn you! Just let her go. Yes."

"Very good, David. I knew you could be reasonable." There was a flash of light. It dimmed slowly. Lucifer's previous vessel was lying on the ground – dead, by the looks of it – and David was looking around with a very familiar, chilling smile. "Michael," he said, and it wasn't Dave's voice anymore. "I'm ready. I'll see you at Stull whenever you can persuade_ your_ monkey to be reasonable."

I held my breath until Lucifer vanished, and then I let it out. That was good – better than I expected. With only one of them in the room, the plan might actually work.

I wished I'd been able to tell Dean – to _warn_ him, because he wasn't going to like it. He was going to have to trust me blindly, and we'd just seen how well expecting him to trust me had gone that evening. (God, Dean, _no_! I'm _not_ still upset about that, and _yes_, you can touch the freaking salt shaker. Idiot.)

Michael turned to Dean. He was about to seriously hurt the kid –

"_Wait_," I said, praying with everything I had that I was right. It would work. It _had _to work. Michael had been willing to switch from Dean to Adam, right? "Wait – I'll do it."

Dean said, "Sam, _no_ – not here. You can't do it. It _won't _work."

"We do have a problem, little Sammy," Michael said, and I wanted to put that angel-killing sword right through his smug face – but if I went for it, I'd be dead in a second and it would be over. "You're a spirit. I can't possess a spirit."

Mom and Dad both looked horrified as they realized what was happening. Dad opened his mouth, but shut it at a furious look from Mom, who said, "Sam – _no_. If you can hear me, don't do this, please. I'm sorry – I'm sorry about everything, but please don't do this."

I ignored Mom, although it hurt to do so. The first time in my life my mother had asked me for anything, and I was turning her down.

"Bring me back," I told Michael. "You don't need Dean specifically, just the Winchester bloodline. Bring me back and I'll do it."

"Sam," Dean said desperately, "we don't –"

"Shut up, Dean. I'm not stupid. What you're doing, this whole heroism thing? It isn't going to work." I _hoped _Dean would get it. "Mom really thought I couldn't handle being a vessel for an Archangel? That I wouldn't be _strong_ enough?"

Understanding flickered across Dean's face for a split-second, so briefly that even Michael couldn't have seen it.

"Don't be a little bitch, Sam. Just back off and let me handle this, OK?"

"_No_," I said more firmly. "I'm _not_ stupid, and –"

"Boys," Michael cut in firmly. "Time's wasting." He snapped his fingers. Dean was flung aside; he hit the chalkboard and fell. He got up right away, wincing and rubbing his shoulder. "Are you ready, Sam?"

"Yes," I breathed. "_Yes_, I'm ready."

I focused every bit of my mind on _stay in control_, _stay in control_, _stay in control_ –

Colours and sounds in a never-ending rush, a tugging, pulling, _joining_ feeling –

And then I heard Mom scream and Dad curse and I knew I'd been resurrected. Alive, whole, in one piece, ready to take in Michael.

_Stay in control._

The light brightened and maybe it was blinding but I could still see. Michael's true form, bright and huge and _glorious_, and an exhilarating rush like nothing I'd known before –

I was trapped in my own head, watching helplessly as my own fist hit Dad in the jaw and hearing my own voice taunt Mom –

_No. No no no no no._

Dad sprawled on the ground, looking at me like I was a monster.

This couldn't be happening. I had to take over – I _had _to –

A ray of light glinted off the amulet Dean was still wearing, and I heard him say, "Sam, come on, _fight it_. You can do it, Sammy. I'm _here._" Michael flicked a finger at him, and Dean hit the chalkboard again. "Sam," he hissed, struggling up to his knees. "You're stronger than he is. _Fight_. C'mon, Sam, do it for me."

Suddenly I _felt _it, just like I had in Stull Cemetery: a sudden rush of strength that I hadn't been able to find until I'd known Dean was there and I'd needed to be strong for him.

Michael was an easier takedown than Lucifer had been. Michael… never really understood men. He just stood there like a brick wall, not moving, even when something more powerful than he was – like the strength only Dean could give me – beat against his restraints.

"Dean," I gasped, knowing the rush of adrenaline-fuelled strength wouldn't last and I wouldn't be able to hold him long, "the sword. Now."

"What? _No!_"

"Dean, please. Trust me."

"With Lucifer in Dave?" Mom demanded. "_No. _What would we be unleashing?"

"Nothing." I looked at Dean. "Please – _please_. I can't hold him much longer. This will make it _all _end, Dean. _Everything._ Please just trust me."

Dean looked at me. "Sam –"

"Trust me, Dean."

Dean jerked a nod, grabbed the angel-killing sword from the table, and took a step forwards.

"_Dean!_" Mom protested, grabbing his arm to stop him. "Are you out of your _mind_? Don't _listen_ to him – for all you know it could still be Michael talking. It might be some kind of trick!"

Dean looked into my eyes. "No," he said quietly. "It's Sam."

"But –"

Dean pushed her off and lunged wildly forward. I felt the knife go in, straight to the heart, in and out fast and hard – probably the only way Dean could bring himself to do it.

It _hurt_.

Dean wrapped his arms around me, holding me on my feet. "I've got you, Sam… and if I don't get you back, I am tracking you down wherever the hell you are and kicking your ass, you hear me?"

"Dean," I murmured, because that was the only word in any language that I could remember right then.

The world went dark.

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><p>Evil and proud. ;-)<p>

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	15. A Time of War

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Author's Note: **OK, I obviously wasn't very clear in the last AN, because a lot of people seem to have thought the previous chapter was the last one. Looking back at that AN, I can see why.

I promise you, I'm not that evil. Yet. ;-)

Also – I have to tell you guys, especially those of you who read the last line of Chapter 13, thought it was the end, and refrained from sending me hate-mail, I _really_ admire your self-restraint. I don't know if I could've been that nice about being left hanging there.

So – to settle all nerves, here's the _real_ last chapter. With an ending I _think_ everyone will be able to live with until I get around to writing the sequel.

A big thank you to Cheryl, for vetting and listening.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed or added the fic to Favorites or Alerts. The encouragement is what keeps a girl writing! (And, honestly, the response was way better than I expected – you guys are the best!)

For reviewing Chapter 13, thanks to Likaella, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, SkeksisGirl, Shakari, Our Eleventh Hour, L Moonshade, Taeriel, SPN Mum, cold kagome, Lykaia, jolynn3277, T.L. Arens, marziebarz, godsdaughter77, Eavis, Katy M VT, Aoi-Moku, Thunderstorm101, primadonna cat, Kathryn Marie Black, BranchSuper, APRIL26, TinTin11, SandyDee84, thatsuperflychick, Lilithakaducky, casammy, OutTonightAndForever, Sparkiebunny, IritIlan, Jester's Tear82 and Starfan1245.

I hope nobody got double responses – the site went crazy and made me reload the response page half the time.

So, finally…

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><p><strong>Chapter XIV: A Time of War, and a Time of Peace<strong>

Smell came back first. (I'm told that's normal.) Gunpowder and cologne and big brother. Big brother meant safety. Good. I could rest.

Then sound. Dean. Choked sobs interspersed with _Sammy_ and _Please_.

Umm… _Not_ good, I was guessing, but my mind was too fuzzy to work around it. Dean was upset. I tried to pat his back, but my arm wouldn't move.

I moved my lips. No sound came. After a few seconds and more heart-wrenching sobs from Dean, I tried again. "_D… Dean?_"

The sobbing stopped abruptly. Mission accomplished.

"Sammy," Dean said hoarsely. "Sammy, thank _God_. You OK?"

"_Dean_," I mumbled, because it still hurt but I couldn't remember the words to express that. I figured my big brother would understand.

He did. "Still hurting, kiddo? I'll bet you are. You just got stabbed with an angel-killing sword." Dean's grip shifted, and I realized I was on my knees. There was something wrong with that… wasn't there? "I think it's over, Sammy. I think we're back." Hand on my head. "How about you open your eyes for me, Sam?"

I tried, but as soon as I managed to crack one eyelid open the light streaming in through the window made me shut it again.

"_Damn it_," Dean muttered. "You want me to draw the blinds, Sammy?" Drawing the blinds would mean Dean would have to go. I clutched him tighter. He chuckled. "OK, kiddo, but we can't stay here forever, you know. I'm thirty-three. My knees hurt. You think you can maybe get to the bed? Just like four steps, and I'll help you." He didn't wait for a response. "Going to get you to your feet now, OK? We'll take it nice and easy."

He hauled me up. I swayed dizzily, but Dean was there, helping me stumble forward.

My knees hit something. I fell onto the bed.

"Whoa! Easy there, Megatron. You're not exactly a lightweight." There was movement, sound, and then Dean said, "OK, lights are out, Sammy. Open your eyes."

I tried again. The room was dark, but not so dark that I couldn't see Dean's face hovering over me.

"_Dean?_"

"God, I wish I could get a recording of this," Dean said, with a smirk that was clearly forced. "Mr I-Memorized-the-Bloody-Dictionary reduced to one freaking _word_. Try again, Sam."

"_Dean_," I complained, more than a little puzzled when Dean laughed for real.

"It's good to have you around, kiddo." He ruffled my hair, smoothed it down, and then, seemingly just for the hell of it, ruffled it again. "Just rest. We'll talk when you're forming coherent sentences again. Sleep, OK? You said you couldn't sleep there."

"Not so fast," another voice said.

I groaned. Not _again_.

"Gabriel," Dean growled, one hand on my shoulder to hold me down. "You've got some nerve, showing up here."

"Oh, spare me the story, Dean. I'm not here for you. I'm here for your brother."

"You come _near _him and I'll –"

"Do absolutely nothing, because I am an Archangel and _you _are a man. An arrogant and hubristic one, but still a _man_. Sammy has a choice to make." Gabriel looked at me. "Although it looks like I might have to come back later. He doesn't seem entirely himself at the moment… Pulling the two of you back into _this_ reality can't entirely undo the effect of being stabbed with _that _sword. He'll recover fully in a day or two. And I'll be back this evening. In the meantime, since you're not good for much else, you can do some thinking, Sam. I wasn't lying in the beginning. If you want, I'll arrange a little detour in the space-time continuum to snap your thread instead of your mother's. Instead of _this_ miserable place, you can go straight up to Heaven at six months."

"And… Apocalypse?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Who knows what would have happened without your ghostly intervention? It won't be _your _responsibility, though. Maybe Brother David will pull off a miracle. Maybe not. You'll be safe and happy and comfortable in eternal bliss. Think about it."

Dean turned to me when Gabriel was gone. "Sammy –"

"Don't," I said wearily.

"Dude, I was just going to say –"

"_Don't._" I glared at him, and, as usual, the burst of anger gave me enough strength to talk. "I've had enough of listening to you go on about how I don't know crap –"

"I never said that!"

"You tricked me into a circle of salt!" I said furiously, feeling my pulse rise.

"I was trying to protect you, Sam. You have to trust me –"

"The hell I do! You _tricked_ me, just like you tricked me into the panic room –"

"I was trying to help you!"

"You left me there _alone_, Dean! I thought I was going to _die_!"

A long pause followed the words. My anger had dissolved into weariness. I couldn't deal with this. I slumped back on the thin motel pillow, breathing heavily.

"So what are you saying, Sam?" Dean asked at last. "You… you don't trust me, is that it?"

He sounded like the whole world depended on my answer. I didn't mean to be cruel. I _really_ didn't, and if I'd been more lucid or hurting less or if the memory of that salt line had had a little time to fade, I wouldn't have said what I did.

"I… _want _to… but…"

"OK," Dean said. He shifted back, like he was trying to give me some space – or maybe he needed some. "OK, fine, you can be mad at me if you want. I probably deserve it. But can I just say something?"

"No."

"Sammy, please."

"_No._" I shifted. "Just… go."

"OK," Dean choked. "OK… If you really want me to…"

He got up, and like Dean's presence had been the thing anchoring me to wakefulness, I started to fall under again. The last thing I heard before I knocked off was the sound of the door closing.

(_Fine_, Dean. I was _getting _to that. _God._)

At this point, let the record state that Dean did _not_ abandon me. He went out and sat on the motel room steps with the door open a crack so he'd still be able to hear if I needed him. Also, he was totally not dewy-eyed all the time he was sitting outside and if anyone suggests that he was crying he will hunt them down and make _them _cry. (Happy, Dean? Can we move on? Thank you.)

I'm not sure how long I slept, but it must've been a few hours because when I woke up, I could hear birds coming home to roost in the woods nearby. (Yup, Nowhere, a mile from the Back of Beyond, that's where we were.) I could also hear someone moving inside the room.

"Dean?" I mumbled.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean's voice answered from somewhere off to my left, too light and too tight. "I'm not here to bother you. Brought you some juice. You've not eaten anything for a while. Drink it and then I'll be out of your hair."

Out of my hair?

Dean was _leaving_? What the _hell_? (So… Yeah, I'd totally forgotten about our _last _conversation. Just proves that I didn't mean a word of it.)

"Going?" I muttered, idiot that I was. Because of course Dean took it to mean not what I meant ("Why is my big brother leaving me when I'm hurting?") but what he thought I meant ("_Going_, you jerk? Why the hell aren't you gone yet?").

"I'm going, Sam," Dean promised. "Just drink your juice and I'll be gone."

"_No._" I tried to push myself up. I managed to get a couple of inches of the pillow before the world started to fade out.

Dean was there in a second, easing me back down. "Don't be an idiot!" he snapped. "Just relax, Sam. I'm _going_."

"_Don't go._"

Dean stared at me in the darkness for what had to be a full minute. Finally he said, "Sammy –"

"_Please_," I interrupted, not quite certain why Dean wanted to go but knowing he could never resist that. Especially not when I was sick.

To my shock, Dean turned away, eyes glistening. "Don't do this to me, Sammy. I get it, I get that you're upset and I shouldn't have tricked you into the salt circle and nothing I say can make it not have happened. I'm sorry, and I'm not expecting you to forgive me in a hurry, but don't yank me around. Please." He looked at me. "I'll do whatever you want, Sam, stay or go. Just tell me what and I'll do it."

_Then _I remembered, I remembered snapping at Dean and telling him I didn't trust him and not letting him get a freaking _word_ out. And, yeah, he'd been a jerk, but that didn't excuse me ripping out his heart.

"_Sorry_," I said. "Stay… _please_."

"You mean that?"

"_Yes. _Sorry –"

"Quit apologizing, Sammy." I felt the weight of the bed shift as he sat on the edge. "I don't blame you for being mad. You want to try the juice?"

I didn't want to try the juice. The thought of juice made me sick. I tried the puppy-dog eyes, but Dean ignored them. Jerk.

"Come on," he urged, sliding over and lifting me. "I've got you. Don't even _try_ the eyes, Sam. You have to get something down. You're not going to feel better until you do. And I got you some fortified health junk. It has all those vitamins and minerals you like so much." When I was sitting up, settled securely against Dean, he pressed a glass to my lips, ignoring all my attempts to take it from him. "Don't be an idiot. You're just going to spill it over yourself, and that's your last clean shirt."

The first few sips made my stomach churn, but Dean held me closer and told me I was fine and after a few minutes my stomach quietened down and I could drink the rest of the juice. He didn't push for more _or _push me away when it was gone, for both of which I was unutterably grateful. He sat back against the headboard, letting me curl up against him.

"Sammy?" he asked after a minute.

"Hmmm?"

"You remember what Gabriel said?"

I stiffened: I'd forgotten what had caused the argument in the first place, but now I _did _remember. That explained why Dean was letting me 'cuddle', then: he either thought he was going to lose me in a few hours or he was making a desperate attempt to change my mind.

"Yeah," I said slowly.

"Can I say something?"

I hesitated, about to protest – but, no. Dean was my big brother. He deserved the benefit of the doubt. "OK," I said, settling myself more comfortably in the crook of his arm.

Dean squeezed me lightly. "Thanks, Sammy."

There was a long and awkward silence. He cleared his throat, I waited, he cleared his throat some more. I finally prompted, "Dean?" He started, like he'd forgotten he was going to speak.

"Gabriel's _choice_," Dean said, practically spitting the word. "I wish… Well, truth is, I wish I could make it for you. Not because I don't think you can – let me finish – but because I don't want to lose you. But… Not my choice, is it? And… Maybe it's selfish of me to want you here when you could be so much happier than here – no, _wait_, Sam. I'm not done. So… What I want to tell you is, make your choice, kiddo. Do… Do whatever you think is going to make you happy. I'll… If you don't want to be _here_, it'll suck, but I'll deal. Somehow."

"Dean –"

"Can I say something else?"

"Yeah," I said, turning so that I could see the spot on his chest where the Amulet _had _been. "Yeah, OK."

Dean saw where I was looking and swallowed. "Sam, if I could – if I could take that back –"

"I know," I interrupted.

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, kiddo. Anyway, the second thing I want to say is that you should decide what _you_ want, but since you probably have some stupid idea of trying to make me happy, _this_ is what makes me happy, Sam." He squeezed harder. "You and me on the road, kicking ass, doing what Winchesters do best. There's no guarantee that the world's going to be better without you. If anything it'll probably be _worse_. And I'm _not_ better off without you. Sam… In that world, I _killed_ Lenore. We keep each other human, Sammy. _You_ keep _me_ human, you've always been my conscience. It isn't just that you keep bitching at me. _I _want to be a better person so I don't disappoint you. I need you around."

I managed to raise a hand enough to pat Dean on the chest. "Best big brother _ever_… Something for you… In my jacket."

"I'll get it later," Dean said.

"Dean, I –"

"Don't." He ducked his head. "If you're going to tell me what you're going to choose, _please_ don't, Sammy. If you're planning to say Yes to him… Well, I'd rather have this time without you without knowing that. And if you say you're planning to say No and then change your mind…"

"Dean –"

"_Please._"

"OK." I settled down with a sigh. "What now?"

"Now we wait. Just shut up and rest, Sam."

I could tell how much it was killing Dean just to _wait_. I could feel his arm trembling where it was wrapped around my shoulders, I could hear his breath catching and hitching, I could _see _the way he looked – just like he had the night before I'd said Yes to Lucifer.

Dean was _awesome_.

I told him so and he made a strangled sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.

I'm not quite sure when I dozed off again, but at some point I did. I was tired, I still hurt more than I cared to admit, and Dean's shoulder made a comfortable pillow.

When I woke up, I was too warm and content to want to move. (Also… I _still_ hurt, and what _was _it with those bloody angel swords? I was pretty sure I'd faceplant if I tried to get up.)

Dean was talking.

"… let him sleep? He's worn out."

"He just has to tell me what he wants," Gabriel's voice responded. "Yes or no. It'll only take him a second."

"But…" Dean's arm tightened around me. "But… you can't…"

"Why _not_? Scared to lose your brother, Dean?"

"_Dude_," Dean said, and his voice sounded so wrong, so _broken_, that I almost couldn't stand it. To tell the truth, I'd been wavering up until that point – but that one word from Dean decided me.

"Dean?" I whispered.

The next few minutes were a blur of Dean hugging me, promising me he had my back no matter _what_, and then propping me up against the headboard before backing off a few feet.

"Well, Sammy?" Gabriel asked. "What's it going to be? Do you want me to take you out of the picture?"

"No," I said quietly. I heard Dean let out a long, relieved breath. "No, I don't. Yeah, my life has sucked in more ways than even Archimedes could've counted, and having Lucifer riding me wasn't exactly fun, but I hardly think getting myself out of it by pushing someone else _into _it is a good idea. Besides…" I glanced at Dean. "_Someone_ needs to be a pain in your ass."

Dean, as promised, had my back. He came up behind me, glared at Gabriel through his eye-rolls and comments that humans didn't know a good thing when they saw it, and muttered, "Good riddance," when the Archangel finally left.

There was a hand on my head, a touch to my shoulder, and Dean said, "You need anything, kiddo?"

"Yeah," I told him. "I want my jacket. Have something for you."

* * *

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